


From the alley

by blueiben



Series: Into the Blue [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batdad, Warnings For Language, baby jay, batfam, batfamily, jason is precious, warnings for violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-02-22 13:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueiben/pseuds/blueiben
Summary: Jason Todd stumbles upon something bizarre when looting for scraps one night, thus changing the course of several lives.





	1. Something strange in the neighbourhood

JASON

“Fucking _fuck_!” Jason kicks the garbage bag in frustration. Rummaging for scraps was all about luck; knowing _which_ restaurants, diners and cafés threw out still edible food, _when_ they did it and being _first_ one there and if one were ballsy enough, one could go to public trash cans in parks and outside of malls to see if anyone had thrown away a donut, a half-eaten sandwich or other sugary mall snacks, but then you were more likely to be chased away and maybe beaten by security. If you were really unlucky or desperate enough; cops. Jason had never dared to that, even when he didn't have any other options as it was the dumbest place to go and the quickest way to get tossed into the System.

This was the second alley he had been searching tonight. It was behind a shitty excuse for a diner and even though they didn’t have a lot of customers, they often threw out leftovers or expired groceries too good to go to waste. Some months earlier he had found a to-go box with some meatballs and cold spaghetti, and when he realized the contents, he had almost squealed with joy (but stopped, as he didn’t want to draw attention to himself). That alone had kept him going for two weeks.

Tonight, nothing was there for Jason. _Nothing, zilch, nada for you, street rat. Too little too late,_ he thinks bitterly. He curses some more under his breath as he makes his way to the next alley. His stomach rumbles painfully under his tattered and dirty sweater. Jason shushes it, trying to will it to be quiet and patient as he sneaks around the corner into Crime Alley. He has some food in his hideout - if he planned properly, disciplined himself and stretched it out, his storage could last a month, so it wasn’t like he was going to die within a week, but desperation and anxiety crept up on him like the Gotham winter. So he had upped the looting to twice a day for the past week and so far, he had only found two containers of old yoghurt and one expired bacon sandwich, still in its sealed packaging (which he particularly looked forward to).

He had found other foods, but those were the only things not completely ruined by rats, rot or too much mold. Jason knew he couldn't afford to be too fussy when it came to food, but he would rather starve than eat rotten food beyond salvaging and get sick from eating food that was too bad or die from food poisoning. Controlling his death was the one thing he could choose for himself. A pathetic silver lining.

He begged sometimes, curled up on the sidewalk with his hand out to passerby’s, but begging in Park Row was like asking people to hand him diamonds. Whoring was out of the question, at least until he turned 14. He had offers yelled after him sometimes (" _How much for a blowjob?", "I'll make you feel good for ten bucks!", "If you go on all fours, you'll get more money than you've ever seen!_ "), but if he was going to die on the streets before he turned 14, he was at least going to die with his body still being his and no one else’s. Stealing and pickpocketing usually worked, but stealing garnered attention and to be successful it needed planning and energy, so he didn’t do that too often. Not to mention he felt a twinge of guilt afterwards and mostly did it with clothes and only the most necessary - after all, everyone was suffering some way or other in Park Row. One man's gain was another man's possible death. Pickpocketing only worked during big gatherings and only stupid people went to those. Stupid people didn’t have much valuable things on them.

He kicks a pebble forward into the darkness in front of him. At first, nothing, but then - _klunk._ A metallic sound. Jason comes to a halt, eyes wide in surprise and senses now on high alert. Klunk? The stone had hit something hard and no bag of trash made that noise when hit with a pebble. Had it hit a dumpster? He hesitates for a second. The first days he started living on the streets he had made himself a set of rules - for safety precautions – that was supposed to give him some structure and not make him do stupid things. (It also made him feel like he was in school again; break a rule and there will (probably) be consequences but follow a rule and there will (most likely) be a reward).

Rule number one was to keep to yourself, trust no one and stay away from anything even remotely dangerous. The noise must’ve meant there was something foreign in the alley and all of Jason’s instincts tells him to turn around and leave. But his feet doesn’t obey. He squints. It looks like… a car? No, a tank. A _tank_? It wasn’t possible that it was a tank, but it didn’t look like a _normal_ car. He thought about the big military tanks he saw on TV once. _Maybe it’s a new model?_ He can feel his heart beat faster in his chest. Jason swallow nervously. He thinks about the shit that can happen to him if this was a trap. He stands still, weighing the pros and cons. _Fuck it_ , he thinks, and lets curiosity get the best of him.

It was difficult to see in the darkness but as he edges closer, the more clearly he could see the thing. “Whoa,” he gasps when it becomes visible enough to get a semi-good look at. It was huge – _massive,_ really, and he couldn’t quite decide if it was a car or a tank. He slowly walks in a circle around it with a constant 5 ft radius, studying it from various angles and trying to look inside the black windows of the car-tank.

Jason wants to touch it so bad, he can actually feel it itching in his fingers to lay his palm on the smooth, black hood. Jason looks both ways of the alley to make sure no one was watching him, before he picks up a small pebble and flicks it towards the car-tank. It bounces off and doesn’t even leave a scratch. It doesn’t seem to have any traps. He lifts up his hand and carefully approaches the vehicle. Just as he can feel the cold hood meet his warm palm, he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. The surface was smoother than he anticipated. “Holy shit,” he breathes, stroking the panel up and down. “This is fucking _sick_!” he chuckles in awe and takes a step back to admire the car-tank’s beauty. Jason hates that he can’t see inside the glass, despite his efforts to press his eyes as close to the glass as possible, hands cupped around. He wants to know what's on the dashboard, the number on its mileage and what the seats and the steering wheel looks like.

As he drinks in the sight and tries to memorize every detail, his eyes fall on the tires. He walks closer and kneels down. He runs a finger along the edge of the front tire hub cap and smirks as a devilish idea comes to mind.

15 minutes later Jason stands in front the tire again, but this time with a crowbar in his hand, sweat on his forehead, a little lightheaded and a little out of breath from running back to his hideout to get his crowbar and then back again to Crime Alley. He scans the alley one more time to make sure no one’s there, ready to jump him when he starts working. Jason can't see anyone, so he clenches the crowbar and kneels down again, struggling to keep the adrenaline in check. Jason forcefully shoves the edge of the crowbar between the hub cap and the tire and starts pushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first fic. English isn't my first language so that's why the wording/expressions/grammar isn't too great.


	2. A street rat meets a bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason meets Batman. Bruce meets a boy in need of help.

JASON

Jason feels his stomach rumble again. The hunger had made his entire being feel hollow and weak and the dizzying sensation he had felt so often the past years started to manifest in his brain, making his fingers a bit too shaky and his breathing a little too heavy. _Just one more hubcap, then I’ll eat and go to sleep. Just one more. You can do this_. He tries, and fails, to blink away the black spots dancing around him.

Getting the caps had taken longer than he would’ve liked, even when he had to be quiet and look out for the owner of the thing simoultaneously. One hub cap had come off after 45 minutes of cursing and prying, listening intently for someone walking towards him, stretching to avoid cramps and keeping focus despite his lightheadedness. He bends down in front of the third tire and for the third time he shoves the crowbar in between the cap and the tire. Just before he begins the process of splitting them apart, he senses it. Someone is watching him, sending a tingle down his spine and making the hairs on his neck stand up. He jumps up, crowbar in hand, ready to strike but no one was there, front or back. _Above._

He throws his head back in time to see a big black figure with white eyes and what looked like wings drop down. The figure lands effortlessly in front of him and Jason, not taking his eyes off of the man, stumbles back in surprise before he loses his balance and falls. The first thought Jason has is _W_ _hat the fuck?!_ and when the realization of who it is dawns upon him, the second thought is: “You’re the Batman.”

He had heard whispers and rumours of the Batman and his different names; the Caped Crusader and the Dark Knight, and what he could do. Jason had scoffed at the tales and rolled his eyes at the people who believed them. Batman was a myth, a fairytale, to scare criminals like the monsters under the bed were to scare children. Besides, if he was real, then Batman was just a trick of somebody twisted or someone in the GCPD with a specific fetish and a hard-on for justice and beating up people. Jason eyes the man in front of him as he fumbles for the crowbar he had dropped somewhere to his right. _Ok, so the Batman is real but he’s still just a man. Breathe._ His fingers touch the cold metal of the crowbar and he grips it tightly before he slowly gets up. “Who are you?” Batman says with a dark voice, his voice booming in the alley and the quiet, black night.

Rule number one about keeping to yourself also included not throwing around your name like rich people threw money around. “Peter,” Jason lies in a wary tone. His heart beats so hard in his chest he was sure Batman could hear it too. He has no chance of overpowering him. Maybe Jason could outrun him - _if_ he catches him by surprise and uses the momentum to his advantage.

“Did you do this?” Batman points at the vehicle.

“Do what?” Jason clenches the crowbar. He only has one chance. It's difficult to see, but Jason could’ve sworn the man’s lips were twitching.

“The hub caps. Did you steal them?” Batman takes one, big step closer. Jason stops himself from taking one step away. The man was truly a giant, like one of those body guards rich people had to feel important, or a bouncer. Jason wonders if Batman could go through doors like a normal person or if he had to go through them from the side.

“No.”

“Really? But you just tried to take the third one with your crowbar there.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Batman looks like he's struggling not to laugh and for some reason, it pisses Jason off.

“I –“

The rest of the sentence turns into a grunt of surprise and pain, as Jason had slammed the crowbar into his thigh before spinning around on his heel and bolted in the opposite direction. He hears Batman yell "Wait!" behind him. Jason ignores it and keeps running as fast as his feet can carry him. He doubts Batman would show him mercy just because he was a child –if Batman catches him he would become involved with the GCPD and the System. There was enough misery to go around on the streets - he didn’t need the pedophiles and assholes with badges and papers either.

He makes it to end of the alley and swings a sharp left – he could shake Batman off without problem – before he takes another left, into the alley he was in earlier. In the side of the building on the right, behind a dumpster, was a small gap, just big enough for him to squeeze into and become invisible. Jason had exploited the opening a few times before when had stolen and been chased by some greedy douchebags. The gap was also great for smugly enjoying the sound of confusion and frustration they yelled when they realized he had disappeared into the thin air.

This time it didn’t work. Before Jason could dive behind the dumpster, Batman lands in front of him again, blocking his path like a brick wall. _Shit._

Jason was ready to fight this time, ready to scratch and kick and bite, even without a crowbar. He was going to snarl and ask him what he wanted, but the dizziness and lightheadedness he felt before had now spread from his chest and head to the tip of his fingers and toes. Black spots dancing in his field of vision became blurry. Using energy he didn’t have on running and stealing the hub caps while high on adrenaline and without eating anything for the past days had caught up with him. The numbness spread like an infection in his body, making his muscles involuntarily let go. The sensation of falling is the last thing Jason feels before he goes out like a light. 

\---

BRUCE

Bruce jumps down the building to the alley below, spreading out his cape to ease the landing. He lands softly on the wet asphalt and makes his way towards the Batmobile, trying not to think of the exact spot his mother and father had been shot and bled to death in what felt like yesterday. He could find the spot in his sleep and draw the caricatures of their bodies blindfolded. He clenches his jaws, trying to not envision his mother’s pearls or the his father’s puddle of blood.

Not only was the memories of Crime Alley gnawing in his mind, pounding against his skull, but the fact that he had been sloppy when taking out a group of thugs tonight… An error that resulted in an aching shoulder. After he had taken out the gang member wielding a baseball bat he had turned, ready to scold Robin for not doing his job, before he remembered he was _gone_. The words died in his throat before he had uttered a single syllable. He had become so accustomed to having Dick there that for the second time since he left, a thug had gotten close enough to harm him. No serious or permanent damage, of course, but it was two times too many. He would have to triple the workout schedule.

The darkness of the alley makes the Batmobile blend almost perfectly with its surroundings, and for anyone else, nothing would seem off about it, but Bruce can immediately tell that the hub caps are gone. Somebody had jacked them off of the Batmobile, here in Crime Alley. The absurdity of the situation and his tiredness combined makes his anger vanish in a second and before he can stop it, a quiet and confused laughter bubbles up from his stomach. Somebody had really seen the Batmobile and decided to pry off the hub caps. He laughs again, a little louder this time. _Clearly_ he needed to tighten up his reputation. He walks around the car to see how many of them were gone. _Only two_ , _so chances are the perpetrators are coming back for a third._ He was fully aware of how Park Row was the part of Gotham with the highest crime rate where most of the city’s poorer population lived, so thievery was as common as breathing in these streets, but this was the first time it had happened to him. This was a mastermind he needed to see. Bruce fires the grapple gun, hides on the rooftop, crouches down and waits.

Approximately 10 minutes later a small figure appears in the alley, steadily approaching the Batmobile with a crowbar in hand. Bruce frowns in a moment of confusion. It was a child. He had imagined two people or at least one cocky, grown up thug but this was… _sad_. As he jumps off the ledge to alley below, he makes a mental note to make a new donation to Gotham’s homeless shelters.

Even though he was silent, the kid jumps up like he has an electric shock before he turns his eyes upwards and looks directly at Batman. _Good reflexes_. He lands in Crime Alley for the second time and observes silently as the kid fumbles backwards before falling. “You’re the Batman,” the boy says in a hushed voice as if he couldn’t quite fathom it. The boy gets up, not taking his eyes away.

“Who are you?” Batman asks.

The kid shuffles his feet. “Peter,” he mumbles quietly and a little too quickly. There’s a moment of silence between them. Without turning to look, Bruce points at the tire Peter had knelt in front of less than a minute prior. “Did you do this?”

“Do what?” Something shifts in the child’s person – from slightly uncertain and taken aback to more confident and prepared.

“The hub caps. Did you steal them?”

“No,” the boy answers firmly. Bruce struggles not to let his smile show – the situation became more and more absurd as the seconds passed.

“Really? But you just tried to take the third one with your crowbar there.”

“No, I didn’t.” The boy was commitment, even though he was caught red handed at the crime scene. His pose shifts again – this time to a more coiled and tense stance.

“I –“

The crowbar strikes his left thigh, and Bruce lets out a grunt of surprise and pain – it hadn’t hit him hard enough to actually be painful, but it hit right above a spot he had been grazed with a knife six nights earlier. Before the crowbar hits the ground, ‘Peter’ had bolted.

“Wait!” Bruce yells to no avail. “Hn.” He fires the grapple gun and lands on the roof of the building to the left where he follows the kid from above as he turned first to the left and then another left. Before the boy reaches the dumpster, Bruce lands in front of him again, to the kid’s surprise. Before Bruce could say he could and wanted to help him, he sees the boy’s body go from surprised to tense and strained to failing to hold himself upright. His small shoulders sink and his eyes become unfocused. As they roll to the back of his head, he falls to his knees. Bruce catches him before he hits the ground.

He quickly and carefully puts the boy down on the asphalt and places two fingers on his neck to count the pulse and to feel if his heartbeat was irregular or slow. It was neither. A small sensation of relief washes over him. _Kids shouldn’t faint from starvation_ , he thinks bitterly. He makes another mental note to be more grateful for Alfred’s cooking in the future. He elevates the boy’s legs to restore blood flow to the brain. Usually, when a person fainted, most often a victim of a mugging or in a hostage situation, he would have to remove some tight clothing, but looking at the poor boy and his baggy and torn up sweater and jeans, it wouldn’t do much. Bruce considers taking him to a hospital, or to Leslie’s, but an attack from Scarecrow two weeks earlier had left most of the hospitals full of patients in hysterics and still in recovery from fear toxin and Leslie, running a free clinic, had been swamped with patients, desperate and penniless, who needed help. Bruce would have to take young ‘Peter’ to the Manor. He and Alfred had enough medical skills to take care of a fainted boy.

For some reason, he didn’t mind the idea of having an extra person in the Manor for a few days.

After a few minutes the boy has some colour in his cheeks again so Bruce slowly lowers the boy’s feet and scoops him up carefully, carrying him to the Batmobile with the boy’s head against his own shoulder. For a boy that looked to be around 10, an age where his body should start to grow muscles, he weighed perhaps around 75 pounds. Bruce’s heart sinks when he feels ribs and a spine beneath the fabric of the sweater. In the Batmobile, he pushes the driver’s seat back to make room for both of them. He gently sits down, ‘Peter’ in his arms and secures them both before starting the engine.

“Alfred?”

“Sir?” Alfred voice crackles through the comms.

“I’m… bringing a guest tonight. I need you to set up one of the bedrooms and bring some medical supplies to it.”

“I was not aware we had started a hospital, sir. What medical supplies would be needed? Nothing too dramatic, I hope.”

“For dehydration. Set up an IV bag and whatever might be necessary.”

Before Alfred can ask, Batman answers: “I have a boy here who fainted from low blood sugar, I believe, and since the hospitals are too full right now, the best for him would be to be taken to the Manor until he’s better. Can I count on you, Alfred?”

“Of course, sir. I will prepare a room and everything else immediately.”


	3. A one way ticket to Narnia, please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason wakes up in a strange place.

BRUCE

“Oh dear.” Alfred eyes the child with concern the moment Bruce carries the boy out of the Batmobile. “Is he…?”

“He stirred a bit on the way here, so he might’ve come to but fallen asleep due to exhaustion. Have you prepped the room?”

“If you would follow me, sir.”

Alfred leads the way from the cave to the bedroom, where Bruce gently lays the boy into bed and steps back as Alfred removes pushes the sleeve up to connect the IV to the boy’s arm and checks his pulse, like Bruce did in the Alley. It was first now, in proper light, Bruce could clearly see his face. The dark, slightly curly hair was uneven as if he had cut it himself, perhaps as a means to avoid it getting grabbed. He notes other features such as the sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks and nose, and the scar in the eyebrow. The most notable (and jarring) characteristics is the malnutrition in his hollow cheeks and sharp jaw, while lack of sleep and stress has created bags under his eyes, making his sockets seem big and hollow. _He looks like a skeleton,_ Bruce thinks to himself. He shudders as he remembers how little the boy weighs and the feeling of his spine earlier.

“I’ll search the GCPD database for missing children, see if I can find a match. Update me if his condition changes.”

“Yes, Master Bruce. I took the liberty to call Leslie earlier. She expressed gratitude for not making her job any more difficult at the moment and gave explicit instructions on giving him fluids and something to light to eat as soon as he wakes up, before a heavier meal.”

“Okay. Good.” Bruce turned to leave, but hesitated in the doorway. He turns around, his fingers fidgeting. “Alfred?”

Alfred looks up with raised eyebrows. “Have you forgotten how to use the door, Master Bruce?”

Bruce chuckled dryly. “No, I just… I’m looking forward to breakfast in a few hours.”

Alfred gives him a dry look. “Please do not have a stroke, Master Bruce, you are far too young. But yes, with our guest here, breakfast shall be interesting to say the least.”

Bruce tries, and fails, to hide a small smile as he leaves.

 

JASON

With a sharp inhalation for air, Jason returns to consciousness. He opens his eyes and blinks a few times, adjusting to the light and letting his surroundings come into focus. _Where... the fuck am I_? He does a routine check of his body – wriggle all ten toes, move all ten fingers and feel for any foreign aching or pain. To his relief there wasn't any, which meant his kidneys are still there, he hadn’t been raped and he hadn’t gotten stuffed with any drugs that hindered movement. He slowly sits up with a soft groan, ignoring the burning desire to lie back down in the soft bed and sleep some more. Jason looks puzzled at the IV bag and its tube, before his senses catches up with him and mind realizes – the tube goes into his arm. He sucks in his breath as he pulls it out and tosses it onto the dark wooden floor and presses down with his thumb where the tube had been to stop the blood.

The room is a bedroom, he realizes, with its closet, empty bookshelf, desk and nightstand. There are two doors, one on the wall opposite the bed and one on the right. On the nightstand next to the bed, there’s a carafe filled with clear water, accompanied by an empty glass and a bowl of grapes and some orange slices. At the sight of water he realizes how thirsty he is, so he doesn’t hesitate to fill the glass and drink it greedily. Only when the carafe is empty he turns to the bowl of ripe grapes and juicy slices of orange, to gulf them down just as fast, feeling strength and warmth spread through his body. He sighs with satisfaction.

Now that the he'd been fed, he slips out of the bed and quietly tiptoes over to the window to see where the fuck he is, but the view doesn’t make him any smarter. Outside it’s morning, and Jason sees a big garden with paths of cobblestone and bushes and patches of flowers around the benches. Beyond the garden is a long stretch of forest, with one narrow road disappearing into it. He doesn't see Gotham or anything Gotham-like beyond the forest, but he couldn’t be far away. He’d been gone for… what, six hours maybe?  Jason looks down. Directly beneath his window are some large bushes and Jason knows he’d land safely in them, even if he jumps from the second floor. Standing on his toes, he raises himself to open the window and almost reaches the latch when someone knocks thrice on the door.

“I don’t know if you’re awake, but I’m coming in,” a dark voice says. Jason had already whirled around to the closet, ripped open one of the doors, climbed inside and shut the closet door as silently he could, just when the bedroom door opens. Someone enters.

Jason fumbles backwards and a childish part of him prays for the closet to go on and on, and he would be like the Pevensies in ‘The Chronicles to Narnia’, accidentally going to a land far away, a land with magic and elves and Mr. Tumnus and Aslan, far away from whatever this hellhouse was. Jason's head hits the wooden surface of the back of the closet and he chokes his reflex to say ‘ow’ and puts his hands over his mouth, determined not to let his breathing give him away. Outside, the man had walked into the room. If he was surprised or angry about the empty bed, there wasn't any audible signs. Jason listens intently as the footsteps comes closer to the closet, but stops in front of the window. The window creak as the man opens it.

Jason hopes the man would think he had ran away and would leave the room so that Jason could _actually_ jump down and run away.

Unluckily, he hears the window close (it creaks again), but no footsteps suggest the man leaving. Jason holds his breath as the footsteps approaches closer before stopping outside the closet door. Again the man knocks carefully before the voice asks: “Are you in there?”

Jason doesn’t respond. His heart beats so hard his chest hurts. “I’m not going to harm you,” the voice continues after a minute of silence. _I’m not going to hurt you my ass,_ Jason thinks, trying to ignore the panic creeping up on him. What if he decided to shut Jason in the closet forever, letting him starve to death in the darkness, never letting him see anything ever again, all alone till he breaks down and dies?

“I’m not going to force you out either but I’ll open the doors. Is that okay?”

Jason bites his bottom lip and carefully scoots closer to the door and silently puts one foot on each door, ready to kick them open. It might make things worse, but on the off-chance it could hit the guy in the head and Jason could run out? He had to take the gamble. He holds his breath. Right after the doors opens enough for a crack of light to shine in, Jason kicks as hard as he can. The door on the right slams open while the left door hits  _something_ so Jason uses the chance to jump out without looking back, gunning for the door, for freedom, but his exit is blocked by a perplexed and elderly man in a black suit and Jason could tackle him, but his involuntarily body freezes up, because it meant he had no clear way out, he was trapped and was going to die or become a sex toy or have his organs ripped out or –

Jason starts to hyperventilate while he backs to the bed and reaches for the nightstand for support, trying to control his breathing. Jason wants to shut his eyes to stop the room from spinning but he doesn’t want to – _can’t_ take his eyes off the men in front of him. Using a breathing technique his mom taught him when he was five, he calms down enough to momentarily suppress his panic.

The elderly man had stepped into the room, and now Jason sees he's holding a folded, clean set of clothes, examining Jason with a deeply worried look. On his shoulder is the hand of the other man, who looks to be in his mid 30’s and is dressed in a nice, white shirt with black pants. He looks familiar. To Jason’s satisfaction, the younger man had some drops of blood on his collar and under his nose from the nosebleed, curtesy of the closet door. _Take that, you freak,_ Jason thinks smugly.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the younger man says and steps forward. He clears his throat before continuing: “My name is Bruce and this is Alfred,”-  he gestures to the elderly man – “and you’re at Wayne Manor.” A switch goes off in Jason’s head. _That’s_ why he looked familiar. Bruce Wayne was a name Jason had heard more than his own in his life; Bruce Wayne was, after all, Gotham’s favourite rich bitch to gossip about. The wealthy fucker was _everywhere_. Which also means he wasn’t far away from Gotham after all. The man – _Bruce,_ Jason thinks with a snort – waits for Jason to respond. He doesn’t, so Bruce continues: “Batman dropped you off here last night because you fainted from low blood pressure – “

“What? Why?” The sharp words were out of his mouth before Jason could stop them.

Bruce hesitates for a second, choosing his words carefully. “You weren’t well - you fainted, and he wanted to help you, so he brought you here to get some rest.”

“He should have minded his own business,” Jason snarls. He narrows his eyes. “What’s your relationship with him anyway?” He remembered one rumour he heard in particular; that Batman and Bruce Wayne were secret lovers. Since Batman turned out to be real, Jason wondered what someone would pay for proof of that. Probably more than the two hub caps put together.

“He’s… an acquaintance, you could say,” Bruce says with an annoying, cheeky smirk. Jason glares. Bruce’s smile fades and he clears his throat again. “We can talk more downstairs. Alfred is preparing breakfast and he brought some clean clothes if you want to freshen up.” Jason switches his gaze to the older man again, who meet’s Jason’s blue eyes with his own greyish. He smiles a friendly smile, a lot more genuine than Bruce’s half-assed smirk, and says: “I do hope the clothes are to your liking,” – he places the clothes on the bed - “and I will be in the kitchen if either needs further assistance.” With a polite nod he leaves.

Some more silence. Jason stares at the clothes, then at Bruce. “So this is the bathroom,” Bruce explains awkwardly as he goes the second door and opens it to reveal what had to be the cleanest bathroom Jason had ever seen. “There’s a shower and a bathtub with soap and shampoo, some clean towels and some washcloths. A toilet, of course. You’re more than welcome to use any of it. I also think Alfred would like to throw your clothes in the washer so he’d appreciate it if you changed.”

Jason couldn't take his eyes off from what he sees of the bathroom. The tiles are white and spotless and the tub is so big Jason bet he could float in it and stretch out his arms to the sides, like a starfish. He instantly longs to have a real shower with warm, clean water, letting it wash over his skin and use shampoo to rub grease and filth out of his hair.

“I’ll come back in 30 minutes and show you the way to the kitchen,” Bruce continues. Jason stares at him with a puzzling expression. That was it? He’d just given the man a nosebleed and he was just gonna leave?

“I understand you might want to use the window to go back to Gotham, but I promise you, we’re not going to hurt you. And there’s a long walk from here to Gotham.” Bruce smiles again, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, before he leaves the room and closes the door behind him, leaving Jason even more confused than he was when he woke up. He stands still for, two, three, four minutes in belief that they were going to come back and say it was a joke and deck him in the face.

He thinks about escaping through the window and walking back to Gotham, no matter how far away it was, but the thought of a warm shower and fresh food was too good to pass up. Even if it was a trap of some sort, he would walk into it like a fool, but a happy fool nonetheless. When nobody came back to beat him up, he picks up the clothes from the bed and walks cautiously to the bathroom and peeks inside. It even smells good. Clean and fresh and sharp, like lemons. He puts the clothes down and ransacks the corners and the cupboard for any hidden cameras. When he doesn’t find any, he retrieves the clean clothes and places them next to the tub before closing the door, relieved to see a lock. He twists it, hears the sound of the lock and starts undressing.

20 minutes later, Jason had taken what was the best shower of his life. He puts on the clean clothes the old man had brought – warm, soft, black jeans (that he had to fold three times at the feet), a white baseball tee with red sleeves (that were supposed to end at the elbows but instead hang halfway to his wrist and kept slipping off his shoulder) and black socks (they fit) – and looks at himself in the bathroom mirror. Jason giggles at the sight of his clean self.

In the steam on the mirror he writes _JT was here_ with a finger. Even though he’d managed to maintain a semi-decent mouth hygiene for the past year, he still grabs the toothbrush in the cup, and the toothpaste. He studies at the lump of turquoise curiously and notices it’s had small, flat squares in it. ‘Crystals of mint’ he reads on the tube. _Whatever that means_ , he shrugs. (It turns out that meant the toothpaste is so minty and strong his eyes burned and he got a coughing fit.)

When he was finished brushing his teeth, he collected his dirty clothes, unlocked the door and went to bed where he sat down and waited. After a minute, there were no signs of Bruce the Billionaire, so Jason empties the pockets of his old pants and put the stuff in the pockets of his new jeans (some money, a small pocket knife and one cigarette) before folding the clothes in a neat pile. He tiptoes to the door that leads to the rest of the Manor and opens it. Sticking his head out, he peeks curiously down what turns out to be a long hallway with similar doors. At the left end, he saw a staircase going down.

He turns his head to look at the right end, but jumps back when he sees Bruce Wayne right behind him, now in a clean, light blue shirt without blood on its collar. That was the second time Jason didn’t hear Bruce. Either Bruce was secretly a ninja or Jason’s hearing had started to go bad. Without thinking, he raises his fingers up to his ears and snaps twice with each hand, close to each ear. _No difference_.

He looks back up and sees Bruce’s perplexed face, trying not to laugh at the sight of the kid old who had out of the blue, given himself a hearing test without any warning. Jason feels his cheeks and ears flush red as he looks down at his feet. Bruce clears his throat again.

“Are you all washed up and done?” he asks. Jason nods without looking up. “Great. Follow me and I’ll show you the kitchen and we can eat breakfast.”

Jason’s heart skips a beat when thinking of the kitchen – if one out of a hundred bathrooms were that great, he couldn’t even imagine the one out of (presumably) one kitchen. Bruce walks past him. Jason follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcanon that Jason has a scar in his eyebrow, like Jason Momoa and since this is my fic I need to get these thoughts out of my head and put them somewhere else. 
> 
> The way Jason and anyone else is characterized in this fic is just how I envision them when I think of them.


	4. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is presented with a buffet and doesn't know what to do.

JASON

As they walk, Jason decides he’s happy he cleaned up because if he didn’t, he would nervously try to get his hair to lie flat and discreetly try to get the dirt from under his nails. Not only would he stick out like a sore thumb – it would be plain rude and if Jason had learned anything it was that swallowing his pride and show manners and respect could sometimes go a long way and save him serious trouble.

Jason counts the rooms as they pass, noting there’s four rooms between the stairs and the room he woke up in. When they descend the stairs, Jason begins to really grasp how huge the Manor is and that he had seen just one small part of it. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. His understanding of luxury was jewelry, sport cars, fancy _as fuck_ clothing, yachts and big houses but this was just… obnoxious. The hall they were in could probably fit twenty of Jason's old apartment. The chandelier winked at him from the ceiling and the perfect mahogany floor was so polished Jason automatically switched to walking on the balls of his feet.

Soon enough they were in the kitchen – and it’s probably the most beautiful room Jason has ever seen. The room is _perfect_ and looks like it’s been ripped straight from the pages of one of those furniture catalogues. The biggest difference was that this kitchen was warmer and more atmospheric, mostly thanks to the smell of food and warm, natural light of the sunrise flowing through the windows. The elderly man – Alfred - is also in the kitchen, this time with an apron and rolled up sleeves, stirring a frying pan with strips of bacon in it. On a rectangle table a bit further away were more foods, many of which Jason had never seen before. Still, he knew some of them – butter, jam, cheese, bread, rolls, omelets and _pancakes_. He stands in the entrance taking it all in while Bruce pulls out a chair and sits down. First now he notices Jason had stopped. “Is something wrong?”

A question also known as: _Sit the fuck down or I’ll start throwing bottles, brat._ Jason quickly shakes his head, walks briskly over to the table and pulls out a chair on the opposite side of Bruce before sitting down quietly. It’s almost worse sitting right in front of the food as it smells and looks even more delicious. If it wasn’t for his clenched jaws, Jason was pretty sure he would start drooling shamelessly. Bruce starts cutting up a roll while Jason looks around some more, studying the fridge with the alphabetic magnets, the cooking utensils he could see in Alfred’s hands, the dark brown cupboards and the spotless sink. He glances discreetly at the windows. A lump of ice manifests in his belly – it was the same type as in his bedroom and just as, if not more, difficult to reach. He turns again to see Bruce study him with a puzzled look. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Jason blinks in confusion. He shakes his head. “You should eat something. Is there anything you want that’s not on the table?” Jason almost falls out of his chair. _There are more breakfast foods?_

“The bacon is almost done, sir, if that’s what you’re implying,” Alfred says without turning from the stove. Bruce smiles again. “Do you want bacon?” he offers. _Yes_ , Jason thinks. _And the pancakes and rolls with ham and cheese and the fruit and the apple juice and that creamy thing I don’t know what is but looks delicious._ He shakes his head. Bruce’s smile fades a bit and is replaced with a look of concern. “You should eat. Low blood sugar is not something to be taken lightly. Especially for a child.” Jason bites his lip and let’s his eyes wander over the food again. Bruce was ready to eat without hesitation, so Jason doubts it’s poisoned. But there’s no way it's just up for grabs.

“It looks delicious,” he admits quietly.

“Then - ”

“- but I don’t have any money.”

Bruce drops his fork into the jam he was about to spread on the one half of roll, which falls to the floor.

“I mean – I think I have some quarters enough for one roll, if it’s… enough…” Jason stammers before the sentence dies out. He folds his hands in his lap, picking on his nails, not daring to look up.

“Do you – did you think I would – that you would have to _pay_?” Bruce sounds like he had seen someone fall from the sky. Jason shrugs in response. A deafening silence wraps itself over them like a blanket, eventually interrupted by Alfred placing a plate of what looked like perfectly cooked, crisp bacon on the table.

“It seems you’ve dropped your food, Master Bruce,” Alfred remarks and walks over to the roll and picks it up. “I shall throw it awa – “ Jason perks up and almost shouts: “I’ll take it! If you’re going to throw it, I mean,” he adds quickly. Alfred’s eyebrows shot up. “I – I have some money…” Jason sinks back down and picks on his nails again. Bruce shifts in his seat and clears his throat for what had to be the fifth time. Jason began to become irked at the sound.

“You don’t have to pay with money. You can –“

“I’m not a whore either,” Jason interrupts sharply, meeting Bruce’s eyes. “But I can help you find someone, if you want. Man or woman, someone discreet. There’s many in Park Row, no matter what fucked fetishes you’re into.”

“Oh dear,” Alfred sighs as he makes his way back to the stove with roll in hand. Bruce looks completely taken aback. “I – I didn’t mean – “

He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “I don’t want _anything_ as payment for the food or anything else,” he states calmly. It was obvious this was a trick but Jason was baffled at how plain and basic it was. “Right,” he says slowly in an attempt to hold back sarcasm. “So it’s just… _free_ , then?” Bruce was about to say something before something occurs to him. He hesitates but then says: “There’s one thing you could do.” _No surprise there_ , Jason thinks bitterly. He waits for Bruce to continue.

“Tell me your name.”

“What?”

“Tell me your name.”

Jason frowns. “Didn’t Batman tell you? The name’s Peter.”

Bruce chuckles. “Batman can tell when people are lying, and he told me you were lying last night. Tell me your name.”

Jason bites his lip again. His stomach makes a long growl. _Traitor_ , Jason thinks. _Grapes and oranges weren’t enough for you, was it?_ He eyes the pancakes hungrily. Some has even chocolate chips in them. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime; he was never going eat this kind of food again. He swallows, imagining how they taste with maple syrup. It was trap, it had to be. But he would rather be a happy fool who had chocolate chip pancakes than unhappy and smart that died without. _Fuck it_.

“It’s Jason Todd,” he mumbles in a low tone, hoping Bruce wouldn’t hear it.

He grabs a fork and begins hauling pancakes to his plate.


	5. Bye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason has a golden opportunity - should he grab it? Absolutely.

JASON

45 minutes later Jason had stuffed so much in his mouth he would throw up if he took another bite. He'd shamelessly taken half of the pancakes and the bacon, gulped down apple juice and two glasses of chocolate milk, eaten six fruits, taken two omelets and 3 rolls, each with different toppings. Leaning back in his chair, Jason can’t help but release a content sigh. They’d eaten in silence, Bruce occasionally casting a glance at Jason as if to make sure he ate, while Jason avoided making eye contact alltogether. After Alfred cleared the table and filled the dishwasher, he left, presumably to attend to the pile of dirty clothing Jason left on the bedroom floor.

Now that Bruce and Jason are alone, Jason digs his hand in his pocket, squeezing the pocket knife, ready to go in case Bruce makes any sudden moves. A minute passes. Then another. Then another. Jason doesn’t like it. He needs to leave, ASAP. He pushes the chair back and stands up. “Thanks for the food. I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Um - actually, I hoped to… _discuss_ some things with you,” Bruce says abruptly, which actually meant _You’re not leaving yet._ Jason comes to a halt and turns his head to look back at Bruce. Jason wasn’t far from the door – he could make a run for it, and even if he didn’t find the exit, he could still find a room with a lock on the door and jump out the window.

“About what?” Jason asks skeptically. His fingers clench around the knife in his pocket. He hopes Bruce doesn’t notice.

“Well, about your living situation.”

“What about it? It’s none of your business.”

“Perhaps not, but can you tell me anything?”

Jason shakes his head.

“That’s okay. But I can’t let you go back to live on the streets.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not good for you. You’re a child.”

“Gotham isn’t good for anyone; it doesn’t matter how old you are,” Jason snaps back.

Bruce blinks in surprise. It was clearly not the conversation he was expecting.

“So I’m not allowed to leave, is that it? I’m a _prisoner_?” His voice rises. The cold of the knife burns in his hand, giving a sense safety. To hold it was to know he wasn’t completely defenseless.

“Of course you’re not a prisoner, but let me at least call social services – “

“No!”

“Ok, I won’t call social services-“ Bruce holds up his palms ' _I surrender'_ “ - but I am sorry to say, I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to go back to the streets.” He folds his hands on the table. ' _That’s that. I've decided and you_ will _listen'._

“So what are you going to do me? I can’t fucking _leave_ or else you’ll call the police?”

“I have another suggestion.”

“Really.”

“I do.”

“What, I work for you and deal whatever you sell? I become your boy-toy?”

“I was thinking you could stay here for a while.”

Jason scoffs. How naive did he think Jason was? “As I said, I’m _not_ a whore and there’s plenty of whores in Park Ro-”

Bruce sighs in frustration, and Jason immediately stops talking. He's way out of line now, he knows that. But frustration and anger was good; it meant he was getting somewhere, which meant Bruce was going to lose composure and then this pathetic charade could get over and done with. Jason just needs one well-aimed stab in one leg to slow Bruce down enough.

Bruce looks back at him with a steady and calm gaze. “No, I meant you just live here, for a certain amount of time and in the meantime you can do whatever you want. No… _services_ or payment required.”

Jason rarely thought of himself as stupid. He’s good at things, like reading, hiding, memorizing the streets of Gotham, using his small body to his advantage, pinpointing which people to scam and who to avoid, looting for scraps and store food. He understands body language, difficult vocabulary, the people in Park Row and why people uses drugs. But the words that just came out of Bruce Wayne’s mouth were incomprehensible. The silence between them stretches as Jason tries to grasp the situation and the meaning of Bruce’s words.

To some degree he can understand the shower and the breakfast - he was a charity case and they didn’t want him to dirty things more than necessary – but this? It didn’t make an ounce of sense. Jason had slept and showered and eaten. Bruce had done Batman a solid. Jason would leave and everything would return to normal. It's supposed to be end of story.

Finally, all Jason can say is: “Why?”

Bruce clears his throat again and it takes everything Jason has to not yell for him to drink a fucking glass of water. Everyone had tells and this was Bruce’s give-away when he feels awkward. _You would suck at poker,_ Jason snorts internally. Maybe he could scam Bruce in a poker game. Jason didn’t know much about Bruce Wayne but as far as he could tell, Bruce the Billionaire wasn’t worth all the ruckus and gossiping. If anything, Bruce Wayne was annoying as fuck.

“I thought it would be nice.”

Jason doesn’t know how to react to that. _What does_ that _mean?_

Bruce looks at the watch on his wrist. “I have an appointment with a business partner,” he grumbles and stands up. Jason automatically steps backwards, wary of the man’s movements as he pushes the chair in. “Which means I’ll leave for a few hours and you’ll be alone here with Alfred. You are welcome to use anything you want, whether it’s the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, the library or the dining room or anything _in_ them. Still, some rooms are locked and I have to ask you to stay away from them. Alfred is working, but if you have any questions, I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer.”

“Are you leaving, Master Bruce?” Alfred had appeared in the doorway. Saying his name summoned him, apparently. _Even the butler has mastered the way of creeping_ , Jason thinks.

“Yes, I have to talk to Lucius about the… _car_ _troubles_ , if you will.” Bruce’s voice has a hint of humour in its tone. _He probably got one scratch on one ugly sportscar and he’s gonna get ten new ones._ Jason makes inner gag noises. Obnoxious rich people.

“Very well. Give my regards to Mr. Fox, will you?”

“Sure.” Bruce turns to Jason. “I’ll be back in a few hours. We can talk more then.” Then he leaves. Now Alfred turns to Jason. “I am sorry to say I will be busy planning and orchestrating a gala Master Wayne is hosting next week here at the Manor, so I’m afraid I’ll be quite busy, but if you have any questions at all, or require any assistance, Master Jason, please – do not hesitate to call me or come to me. The Manor is yours to explore.” He nods politely again and walks out of the room, leaving Jason alone in the pretty kitchen. Being called ‘Master Jason’ was a feeling similar to being tickled. Somewhere outside, he hears the sound of a car engine starting and then fading away.

Jason starts with the attic. He knows exactly what he needs and what he’s going to do, but it’s difficult doing it as fast as possible when the Manor was so fascinating; Jason could spend a week in the attic alone, exploring the crooks and nannies for hidden treasures and peek and prod the not-so-hidden treasures. The attic is filled with old clothes, some furniture hidden by sheets and miscellaneous stuff like paintings, old textbooks, empty frames and toys covered in dust.

A suitable bag was found almost instantly. It was a grey shoulder bag with a good lock on it and not too big for Jason’s small frame. On the inside of the lid, ‘Property of Dee Gee’ was sloppily written with a black marker. Jason wonders who ‘Dee Gee’ was and why their bag was in the Wayne Manor attic. _Whatever. Finders keepers_. He hangs it over his shoulder across his chest. It doesn’t take him long to find shoes either; for a house where two grown men lived there sure were a lot of kid’s shoes. He slips on a pair of torn sneakers a tad bigger than his feet, but not by much. Then he proceeds to take one of the prettiest, empty picture frames and put it in his bag before he scurries over to the textbooks and flips through some of them, deciding on one for math and one for history, which he also shoves in the bag. He tiptoes the steps back downstairs.

Jason stops right before every corner, listening closely for any signs of Alfred. Hearing nothing, he jogs quietly to the bedroom where he woke up earlier (the journey from the attic to the bedroom took over 10 minutes as he had to watch out for Alfred and got lost, twice). In the lemon-scented bathroom, he grabs the toothbrush, the toothpaste and a roll of toilet paper and put them in the bag. He nabs the digital clock from the nightstand before leaving for the master bedroom, to the right in the hallway, where Bruce had come from earlier. To his surprise, it wasn’t locked. He closes the door quietly and shuffles through the drawers of the walk-in closet. Jason takes two pairs of cufflinks that looked very worn, a watch that had stopped, a ring that hadn’t been used and a very ugly necklace with a green beetle as a pendant. He considers taking some ties, but that would be easy to notice so he sticks to the tiepins instead.

When done with the master bedroom, Jason tiptoes down the hallway and down the stairs, back into the kitchen, where he rummages for a plastic bag. After finding one, he opens the fridge. Jason takes one of almost everything; yoghurt, a smoothie in a bottle, three energy bars, an apple, a kiwi, a bar of chocolate and something canned. Jason weighs the bag. It’s not too heavy, so he adds two bottles of water. He closes the fridge and scurries over to the bread on the counter, where he cuts the bread in half, wrapping one half in the packaging and shoves it in the food bag. He exhales and feels his heart beat loudly in his chest, the adrenaline making him high alert and a little skittish.

Now he just needs to leave. It turns out the exit isn’t far away from the kitchen – around the corner, down a short hallway and to the right. He had to reach Gotham within the hour – Alfred could find out he was gone at any time, which meant he would call Bruce and then one of them would call social services and then the GCPD. Maybe they would put out a missing persons and send a patrol car in Park Row asking around for a day or two before giving up. Which meant he just had to stay low for five days, tops. With his new stash it wasn’t going to be a problem. He listens one last time for Alfred, feeling a twinge of guilt to the older man. He seemed like a decent person. Next to the door, he notices a small table with a bowl of keys in it and a note pad on it with a pen next to it. Jason hesitates, then hurriedly writes ‘for the clothes’ in a very shaky and barely readable handwriting. He grabs his quarters from his pocket and quietly lays them down on the table. It’s not much but he doesn’t like the idea of just leaving without showing _some_ gratitude and respect. He opens the door carefully and slips out. He closes it and then he runs. He sees the fence, about 7 feet tall in the distance. When reaching it, he jumps and grabs the arms, pulling himself up and then over - a bit clumsily with the bags – before landing. On the gate not far away, Jason spots a security camera. Now that he was out and free, Jason flips it. Bruce had told Jason was free to do whatever he wanted so technically he wasn't breaking any promises. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity Jason had taken happily. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, he grins as he begins jogging towards Gotham.

With fresh food and new loot, Jason was going to have the best month of his life in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if there's a word or collective term in English for things you put on bread or rolls and such, which includes cheese, jam, ham, peanut butter, etc. Since I couldn't find an english term, I just used 'toppings' instead. 
> 
> When conversing with Jason in the Kitchen, Bruce is 100% the 'blinking, confused white guy meme' when Jason makes a snappy comeback so there's that.
> 
> Lastly, I'm currently on a holiday, so I won't be able to write and/or update as much as I would like, but I'll try to update at least two more chapters in the next 10 days or so.


	6. Searching for a boy in a city-shaped haystack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason has gone into hiding, Batman is seeking but it proves more difficult than anticipated. Difficult, not impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to be clear that Bruce is Batman in the latter parts, but it felt awkward writing 'Batman' as he wasn't Batman in the classic sense - he's a worried parent-to-be, so I wrote Bruce instead. You'll know when Batman emerges.

BRUCE

Bruce was in his car on his way back to the Manor when his phone rang.

“Alfred?”

“Master Bruce, it seems Master Jason has run away.”

Bruce closes his eyes. “Damn it.”

“Even though the poor plan of not smothering the boy did not work, I must apologize for not keeping a closer eye on him and doing my part more thoroughly.”

“It’s okay, Alfred.” He sighs. Before Jason woke up, he had gone back to the Cave to search for missing children with his characteristics. Boy, dark/black hair, scar in right eyebrow, 9-12 years old, freckles, approximately 4ft8 and around 75 pounds. Three matches, none was Jason.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you know when he left?”

“About one and a half hours ago, sir. Due to my work, I made the discovery just now and called when I was sure. I reviewed the security footage of the gate as it recorded him leaving. In fact, I’m looking at it as we speak.” If Bruce didn’t know any better, it sounded like Alfred was smiling.

“Do I have any chance of passing him on the way?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

They both stay quiet for a bit.

“Should I call social services or the GCPD and alert them of the situation?” Alfred asks.

“No. By now he’s back in the city and he’ll have predicted how we would react. Calling either will only drive him further into hiding.” He furrows his brows in silent irritation directed at himself. _God damn it._ The idea had been to ease Jason into the Manor and not hover above him like a watchdog - Bruce suspected it would make Jason even more panicky and lash out even more, so he scheduled a meeting with Lucius to get new hub caps and add more security to the Batmobile so that Jason could explore and get familiar with the Manor on his own terms and with Alfred’s soothing presence nearby. Clearly he had underestimated the boy’s distrust.

“I’ll be home within 30 minutes, Alfred.” He hangs up and honks at the car in front of him.

 --- 

“Welcome back, Master Bruce.” Alfred hands him a note.

“What’s this?”

“That would be the note the boy left behind, along with these-” Alfred opens his hand, revealing a handful of coins. Bruce looks from the coins to the note before reading it.

He squints at the messy, barely readable handwriting. “For the clothes?”

“It seems he didn’t believe that what we offered him was free of charge.”

“Hm. Show me the footage of when he left.”

“At once, sir.”

Bruce accepts the money from Alfred, folds the note in two and puts all of it in his pocket before he follows Alfred into the study, where Alfred proceeds to promptly find the file for the security footage. He presses play and steps back, allowing Bruce lean closer. At first he couldn’t see anything but the road up to the Manor and the façade. Then, a small figure slips out of the main entrance, before skipping down the steps and then goes into a full sprint to the side of the screen. On the second camera, the one turned towards Gotham and the road leading to the city, Bruce could see Jason jump down from the fence, spot the camera and give it the finger before he disappears off screen with a grin.

Bruce plays it back twice, studying the footage.

“I must say, he is a… memorable child,” Alfred says, amusement in his voice.

Bruce turns to Alfred with a cocked brow. The butler was struggling to hold back a smile at the frozen image of Jason giving the camera the finger.

“Those bags, what are they?”

“It seems Master Jason took a few items with him and raided our fridge.”

“Items? Like what?”

“The clock on his nightstand and a few toiletries. Some things from the attic; some old textbooks, a picture frame and a pair of old shoes. A shoulder bag that belonged to Master Dick a few years ago, and it seems young Jason used it to carry the items. I haven’t searched all of the rooms however, so there might be more missing.”

Bruce enhances the image, and sure enough, it was a bag that had belonged to Dick. He remembers Dick had written ‘Dee Gee’ as his signature instead of ‘Dick Grayson’ or simply ‘D.G’.

“Dee Gee, like the Bee Gee-s,” Dick had exclaimed with a grin, cheekily proud of his wit. When Bruce had asked why, Dick had responded with an acapella performance of ‘Stayin’ Alive’, attempting to sing all the parts and the instruments at the same time.

“Hm.” Bruce straightens up.

“At the very least he took some food,” Alfred mutters while turning off the computer.

“He managed to sneak all of that with him without you noticing? You must be getting slow in your old age, Alfred.”

“In your dreams, Master Bruce.”

“I’ll see if I can get a hit on his name in the database.”

“Will you be searching for him in person? I do hope you’re not going to leave the boy to himself.”

“Tonight. Maybe he’ll trust Batman more than Bruce.”

 ---

It turned out Jason was good – _really_ good - at concealing himself. Batman had asked around in the shelters of Park Row for a Jason Todd, Peter Todd (or any variations of Jason, Peter and Todd combined) and given description. Many didn’t remember as people came and went in the shelters. Some thought they might’ve seen him but didn’t have any more information. To be sure, Bruce had been on stakeouts for each shelter for a few hours, in case Jason showed up. Now he had gone from shelters to asking around in empty buildings in Park Row where many homeless slept before they were removed from the premises. When questioning the temporary residents of a building with a floor with mold in the walls, one woman recognized him.

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No, but he’s been here a few times when there’s bad weather. Hides out like the rest of us.”

“When was the last time he was here?”

She shrugs. “Haven’t seen him lately, but I’m not here that much either. He’s a good kid, much too good to be _here_ ,” she gestures vaguely. ”Shares food sometimes.”

“He stopped coming here about two weeks ago!” another, younger woman chimes in. “He stopped after what happened to Honey.” She strides over to Bruce and the older woman.

“Oh, that’s right! Horrible thing.” The older woman shakes her head absentmindedly and tutted her tongue.

“Honey?” Bruce asks.

“A working girl. She was nice. Had her own apartment, but came here sometimes to avoid some people on occasion. Like the most of us.” The second woman smiles somberly.

“What was her connection to him?”

Both shrug.

“What happened to her?”

“She died, but we don’t know the details.”

Bruce nods his thanks and starts walking away. “Hey, tall dark and handsome! Why are you looking for him?” Bruce turns and sees the second woman crossing her arms. When he doesn’t respond, she says: “He’s a good kid. If you hurt him, may God have mercy on your soul.”

 ---

Bruce sits perched up on a tall building, looking over the city while its cars and people passed by on the streets below. He thinks about what the first woman had said about how Jason went inside to hide when there’s bad weather. There had been a small rise of shelters over the years to give abused, runaways and homeless a place to stay, but there was still a number of homeless people who lived on the streets. Jason was one of them, only going to empty buildings when there was heavy rain, maybe thunder and surely for the winter. A mental image of the small boy covering himself up with whatever he could find, trying to sleep on the ground, cold and shivering in a dirty alley crosses his mind. He turns on the comms.

“A, find information on a death that occurred about two and a half weeks ago in Park Row. A working girl, called herself Honey. She might be connected to Jason.”

“Let me see what I can find.”

Bruce hears the faint sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard.

“Ah, yes. One obituary for someone who might fit. A Hannah Marjorie Carlson. Aged 29. No cause of death listed.”

“Only an obituary? No media coverage?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Search her address and the police files, see what you can find.”

\--- 

Turned out the apartment for Hannah Carson wasn’t far away. Bruce stands on the building across the street, blending in with the gargoyles around him. Just before he lets himself fall down and glide to the apartment complex, a flicker of orange in the black and grey catches his attention in his peripheral vision. Crouching back down, Bruce remains hidden as he makes his way closer to the edge and the small light. Two roofs over, a small figure dangles his legs over the ledge with a cigarette in between his fingers and breathes out the smoke with his head leaned back towards the black night sky.

“I don’t believe it,” Bruce whispers in a mix of disbelief and relief.

“Sir?”

“I found him. Jason.”

“That’s a relief. How is he?”

“Smoking,” Bruce grumbles.

“Is that so?” An edge of disapproval in Alfred’s voice. “Well, I found a match on Ms. Hannah Carson, sir. Cause of death was loss of blood, due to her throat being cut. Her apartment was broken into and it was ruled as an armed robbery gone very wrong.”

“Who killed her?”

“No arrests were made, sir. No suspects either.”

“I’ll follow up on it.” He turns the comms off.

Bruce studies the rooftop Jason sits on. About two thirds from the ledge Jason sits there is a door, leading to the lower floors. Above the door is a light shining, just enough to illuminate the roof and the boxes next to the door. Bruce can’t help but feel impressed at how Jason had arranged himself. One very big cardboard box had been tipped on its side so that the bottom faced wall and the top faced outwards, making a small bed with a roof. On the ‘floor’ Bruce can see layers and layers of newspapers and blankets. Next to the ‘bed’ were two other boxes and one plastic bag, surely filled with food and other things.

Bruce jumps from his spot and glides to the roof, and lands softly, yet just loud enough for Jason to hear it.


	7. Do we have a deal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is made, burgers are bought and conversations take place.

BRUCE

Jason turns his neck so fast Bruce thinks he’s given himself whiplash. For a moment, they both stare. Jason with shock that morphs into a mix of anger and fear, while Bruce attempts to make himself look as non-threatening as possible, relaxing his shoulders and showing his hands. Jason flicks his cigarette away, climbs slowly down from the ledge and walks away from the ledge, not taking his wide-open eyes off of Bruce. It was in these moments Bruce missed Robin by his side, who was much more appealing to children and people in shock or scared to death.

“I’m not here to arrest you,” Bruce says calmly. He takes one step forwards, Jason one backwards, but he doesn’t stop moving in what seemed to be in a circle around him, maintaining the same distance all the way.

Bruce kneels down and pulls something from his utility belt. “I wanted to give this back. They belong to you.” He opens his palm to let Jason see the coins he’d left at the Manor.

Jason looks at the hand, stops moving and faintly shakes his head. “Mr. Wayne can keep it,” he says quietly.

“I don’t believe Mr. Wayne has need for it,” Bruce smiles softly and puts the money down on the ground. He takes a step back, letting Jason know it was his and there isn’t any traps to it. “I’ve been looking for you for a few nights now. Three, to be exact.”

“To arrest me? Throw me into an orphanage?” Jason says in a low tone, shoulders and voice tense.

“No.”

“Why not? I’m a criminal and you arrest criminals.”

“I want to help you.” Bruce walks a few, slow, steps closer. Jason doesn’t move. “And to buy a meal.”

“I _have_ food,” Jason grumbles defiantly, but Bruce can tell his interested has been piqued.

Bruce glances over to the boxes. In one of them is Jason’s storage of expired food salvaged from dumpsters and trashcans, mixed with whatever he had taken from the fridge at the Manor. Bruce hadn’t asked Alfred what Jason had taken from the fridge, because he frankly didn’t care. If Jason had asked, Bruce would’ve handed him everything in the fridge or a grocery store.

“I know. But perhaps it would fit with something warm? It’s a bit cold tonight.”

“I thought you were a detective. I can’t afford fancy stuff,” Jason mumbles.

“That’s all right. I’ll pay.”

“I don’t want to owe you.” Jason bites his lip. “I stole your hub caps.” He looks away, his cheeks a little red. “If anything, _I_ owe _you_.”

“Then you can repay me by letting me buy you something warm to eat. Deal?”

Jason narrows his eyes, and closes his mouth. Thinks about it.

“Just one meal? And that’s it? No police or - or papers or orphanages or _anything_?”

“No police, papers, orphanages or any such thing,” Bruce confirms reassuringly.

Jason chews on the inside of his cheek, considering his options.

“Can we shake on it?” he asks timidly.

A little surprised at the childlike behavior and innocence of the boy, Bruce stifles his chuckle. “Of course.” Bruce kneels down and stretches out his hand. Jason looks into his eyes, then the hand and then back to his eyes, before he warily walks forward and grabs it. They shake once before Jason pulls his hand back and steps away again.

“Okay,” Bruce smiles and stands up. “What do you want to eat?”

Jason shrugs. “You’re paying. You choose.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m not picky. Whatever’s fine.”

“I’ll see what I can find. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Jason nods.

\---

Some time later Bruce stands in front of Jason yet again with two boxes of burgers and fries in them. Jason had curled up in his cardboard with a blanket over, ready to go to sleep when he heard Batman’s footsteps behind him and turned around, eyes wide in confusion. When standing up, he accepts the bag with a blank expression. He looks at the bag, a bit out of it.

“Are you all right?” Batman asks _._ Maybe burger is the one thing he doesn’t like. Maybe he lied earlier just to be polite.

Jason’s bottom lip quivers a little, not looking up. “I didn’t think you were gonna come _back_.”

It takes every ounce of strength in Bruce’s body to not bend down and squeeze him.

 “I - I can’t accept this.” Jason holds out the bag, towards Bruce, in an attempt to give it back. “I stole from you. I _lied_ to you. It wouldn’t be _right_.”

Bruce feels his heart sink. What had Gotham done to this boy to make him believe he didn’t deserve a _burger_?

“That’s a shame, since I’ve bought two and I won’t be able to finish both,” Bruce sighs. “If you don’t eat it, it’ll go to waste."

Jason’s eyes widen, realizing what that would mean. His arm falters a bit before he pulls the bag close and looks at it with blank eyes. When he rubs them, Bruce pretends he doesn’t see it.

“C’mon. I’ll show you a good spot.” Jason jogs over to the ledge he sat on earlier. Once there, he climbs up and settles, resuming to his position with legs hanging over the edge. He turns and waits for Bruce to do the same. Bruce chokes the instinct to pull the boy away from the ledge and the long drop to the sidewalk below and sits next to him, just far away enough for Jason to not feel stressed out or anxious but close enough to have a conversation.

“I like the view here,” Jason hums, tapping his heels against the wall. “It’s one of the tallest buildings in the area so you can see a lot from here, even a glimpse of the bay and the top of Wayne Tower.” He points in the distance at the buildings and the docks. “And when the weather isn’t shit, the sunset’s pretty.” He opens his bag and takes out his container with fries in it and places it on his lap before taking out the burger. Bruce made sure to get a big one for him. “I like the city lights too and it’s far away from the traffic noise and other people, so it's like white noise you can tune out.”

“Is that why you stay here?” Bruce gestures to the box behind him.

“Uh-huh,” Jason nods, mouth full of burger.

“Why not live in a shelter? They take care of people in your situation. They could help you.” Bruce takes a bite of his own burger. He isn’t particularly hungry, but he suspected Jason wouldn’t eat alone or maybe even reject the food completely if it felt like a charity or anything suspicious about it. So he bought two.

“I like this place. I’m doing fine on my own,” Jason argues. “And you can’t trust them,” he adds. Bruce contemplates asking Jason about his parents, what happened to him and not in a home with a mother or father looking after him. He pushes it away. Asking now could potentially break the little trust built between them, making Jason see his as another prodding and diggin authority figure.

“Where do _you_ live?” Jason peeks at him curiously.

“A cave.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Because bats live in caves. Ha-ha, I get it,” he says mockingly.

“How do you get up here? Haven’t anyone found you, sneaking up to the roof and sleeping here?”

Jason shakes his head and Bruce can tell he’s proud of himself for his set-up. “Nope,” he says cheekily. The lock on the door is busted and there’s nothing here so the people working here don’t come up.”

“So you use the fire escape?”

Jason nods, mouth full of burger again.

They eat the rest of their burgers without speaking, listening to the city life pulsating around them. When they’re done, Jason lets out a burp before blushing and clasping a hand in front of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, it’s just - I haven’t eaten with anyone in a long time– I’ve forgotten my manners, _sorry_ ,” he rambles.

“It’s okay, Jason,” Bruce chuckles.

“Oh. Did Mr. Wayne tell you my name?” Jason asks quietly.

“Yes.”

“Is he angry I ran away? I stole clothes and stuff.”

“He’s not angry,” Bruce promises.

Jason pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them.

“If anything, he’s worried.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t like the idea of a young boy like you being alone in Gotham.” Bruce half expects Jason to laugh and make another snappy comeback.

Instead he stays quiet and squeezes his knees a bit tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Jason has had a rough upbringing, to put it mildly, but I wanted him to still have some childish qualities, as he still is a child, despite being forced to grow up so fast, which is why he makes Batman shake his hand. And I had this thought that Jason has seen criminals, mobsters and thugs shake hands as the ultimate sign of trust so it was that too. 
> 
> And Batman does technically live in the Cave as Bruce doesn't take the Batman persona up to the Manor, but rather leaves it in the Cave. To quote Batman the Lego movie: "Bruce Wayne lives in Batman's attic". So a double joke for you.


	8. The witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman slowly gets on Jason's good side, but Jason has his own plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say this: I'm on tumblr with the same username as here (blueiben). Message me if you have questions or anything else :)

JASON

Neither speaks for a while. Jason tried to wrap his head around what exactly had happened in the last hour. He had settled on the ledge, smoking a cigarette before going to sleep, his usual routine (the smoking helped him relax a little bit) and then... Batman had just flown - or whatever he did - to his roof and bought him a burger. Jason was wary, of course, for Batman to try something, but he kept his distance and never got closer than necessary so Jason accepted the food and suppressed his instincts to bolt.

“You don’t have to stay here, y’know?” Jason mumbles. Batman hadn’t left yet – on one side it was a bit stressful to have n unknown wacko dressed in a batsuit sit next to him but on the other hand he didn’t want to be left alone again. One of the worst parts of living on the streets was the loneliness. Most of the conversations between people in the streets consisted of chasing someone away from your stuff, begging passersby for food or thanking someone that shared something with you. It was oddly tiring, to have all of the thoughts in your head and no one to share them with. He supposed that was why some began talking to themselves.

“I know,” Batman responds quietly.

“People need help, so shouldn’t you go do your thing? Scare the shit out of criminals, save someone?” He gestures to the city. 

“I suppose. But right now, I want to help you.” Batman turns to look at Jason and Jason looks back. _He doesn’t look so scary_ , Jason thinks. The cowl and the white lenses made Jason uneasy, not being able to read his expression fully, but now? Seeing it bathed in the city lights? Batman doesn’t scare him at the moment, like in the alley some nights ago. Even with his gruff voice and massive build.

“I don’t need help,” Jason says. He turns forward again, observing the cars down below. Some drunkards sang and shouted as they wobbled down the sidewalk.

“Then maybe _you_ can help _me_ with something?” Batman suggests lightly.

“With what?” What could _he_ possibly do for _Batman_?

“I found out about a woman named Hannah Marjorie Carson,” Batman explains. “Do you know her?”

Jason shrugs in response. He doesn’t like where this could be going - was this a woman he had taken something from?

“She had another name you might know her as. She called herself Honey.”

 _That_ Jason didn’t expect. He tightens his grip around his knees and presses his forehead against his knees. Jason doesn’t want to talk about her.

“I don’t know her,” he presses out, failing to keep his voice steady. A bad lie.

“A witness told me you and her had some sort of connection or relationship before she died, and after, you stopped coming to the empty building on 34th. Can you tell me about that?” Batman pushes.

“Is that why you bought me the burger? To pay me off?” Jason feels a surge of anger well up in his chest but he doesn't look up from his knees. He digs his nails into his arms.

“No. Hearing about her death was a coincidence.” Batman’s calm demeanor annoys Jason even more. _Fucking liar. This is why he was all nice and shit. Of course he wanted something._ Jason cursed at himself internally for being naïve again – just because Bruce claimed he didn’t want anything, didn’t mean anyone else was going to be so fake about it. Jason keeps quiet, trying to figure out what to say. He knows he doesn’t have a fucking chance in hell running from Batman since he failed last time, even though he’d just eaten. Besides, that would mean leaving behind his stuff. What are his options here?

Batman can tell when people are lying. Bruce’s words echoes in his head. Jason breathes in the chilly air and puts his chin on his knees again. The warmth of the burger and fries had left him and now the coldness of the night creeps up his spine, slowly numbing his limbs. He would have to use two blankets tonight when going to sleep.

Taking the silence as a cue, Batman asks: “How did you know her?”

“There’s a community here,” Jason sighs. “Sort of,” he adds. “It’s every man for himself most of the time, especially when it comes to food and clothes and shelter. But sometimes we help each other.”

“A woman I talked to mentioned she was a working girl. Were you – did you - “ Batman hesitates to find the right words. Jason realizes what he implies.

“No! Nothing like that, she wasn’t like that!” He stares angrily at Batman, whose mouth has turned into a thin line. _Fuck your stupid cowl, you dumb furry. It’s ugly._

“Then how was she?”

“She was a good person.” Jason wants to curl up and not think of Honey or anything. Batman keeps pushing.

“How did you meet?”

Jason bites his lip. _You can’t lie. You can’t run_. He rests his forehead against his knees again. Before he stops it, everything tumbles out of his mouth, like he was confessing to something he had been carrying for years, aching to tell somebody.

“She was at her, um... corner some blocks away. I was looking for something to eat when a guy gets a little too close and backs her against a wall - I thought they were doing _stuff_ , y’know, so I was gonna leave, but she turns her face away from his and I see she’s – she’s _scared_ and this guy was bigger than her so she can’t push him off or get away. I couldn't just leave her so I snuck up behind the guy. She sees me, so I signal to her to stay quiet for a bit. She saw the brick I had in my hand so I could tell she understood. When I’m right behind the guy I slam the brick between his legs, hard enough to make him fall down, clutching his crushed balls and cursing while she moves away from him, and stands next to me, terrified. Eventually, she takes the brick from me and I think she broke his ankle or something. And maybe his nose. Now the asshole is wailing on the ground so she tosses the brick away and grabs my hand and pulls me away and drags me away from there. She doesn’t say anything and I don’t know what to say, we're just walking fast in silence. When we get to _this_ street she stops and starts crying and then she lets go of my hand and falls down, like, _really_ crying. I don’t know what to do so I just stand there. After a while I ask her if she wants to be alone. She says no. I ask if she wants to call someone. She says no. I ask if she wants me to follow her home. She says yes, so I help her up and I hold her hand until we get to her apartment.”

Jason points at the apartment complex. “She lived at the top apartment on the northern corner. It was small, but kinda cozy, y’know? I walk her in and before I leave she offers to let me stay for the night, as a thank-you. I think she didn’t want to be alone. Neither of us are sleepy, so she puts on tea and we play a board game. And talk a little.” Jason feels tears form in his eyes. “It was nice.” Jason feels tears in his eyes, about to fall down his cheeks and he doesn’t want to talk anymore. He hops down from the ledge and strides over to his bed. Batman can go away now.

Jason picks up the blanket, wraps it around himself and lies down with knees up to his chin, facing the wall. Before he can even hope that Batman takes a goddamn hint, he hears footsteps close in on him from behind.

“I’m sorry Honey died the way she did. But I need to know more,” Batman says in a quiet tone.

“Fuck you,” Jason spits. He’s angry again, feeling heat bubble beneath his skin. Batman backs away a few steps while Jason crawls out of his bed and stares up at him. Batman kneels down so that they’re eye to eye.

“I’m sorry,” Batman repeats. Jason plants his hands on Batman’s chest and shoves. To no one’s surprise he barely budges.

“You’re supposed to help people! Why didn’t you help _her_?” Batman doesn’t answer.

Jason glares at the white lenses. He knows Batman isn't gonna leave until he’s told him everything. Jason doesn’t want to - but he does it anyway. “She said I could visit her when she was home alone and she didn’t have visitors. I could come up when her curtains were pulled away from her window - it was like a signal - and we'd chat about things and drink tea. I got to borrow her bathroom, read her magazines and I was allowed to sleep on her couch sometimes.”

Jason takes a shaky breath before continuing. “One night, about two weeks ago, I see her curtains pulled away so I go up to her apartment.” Jason’s lip quivers. “The door was kicked in and she’s lying on the floor, in a pool of her own blood.”

He sniffles. She had looked so much like his mom. The same empty eyes, staring at nothing, lying on the floor. Both had died alone and because of him.

“Did you call the police?” Batman asks.

Jason laughs weakly. “The GCPD isn’t capable of finding their own ears so they're useless.” He dries his eyes and nose with his sleeve. “But yeah, I did. I used her cell.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t tell them shit because _no one showed up_ ,” Jason growls. “The first time I call, I give the address. No one comes. Then I call again and this time and I’m put on hold before I get to say anything.” Jason’s eyes well up again. “Why don’t they _ever_ show up?”

Batman lowers his head. “There was an attack from Scarecrow at the same time, a little over two weeks ago. Every officer was needed. Me as well. I’m sorry.”

Jason rubs his eyes.

Batman looks up again. “Is there any chance you saw someone leave her apartment? Someone suspicious or out of the ordinary?”

Jason thinks about what to say next. How was he supposed to tell Batman he knew exactly who did it and where they were? That he passed the guy in the hall before finding Honey? That after he found her cell he ran out and followed him to a building six blocks away? And the group the asshole met with…

“Jason. If you know anything more, you have to tell me,” Batman says seriously, mouth in a grim line.

Jason crosses his arms and looks defiantly into Batman’s eyes. “I do,” he admits.

“Do you know where this person is?”

“Yes." Jason chews his lip. "I’ll tell you on one condition.”

Batman’s lips press together. Finally, he says, “All right.”

“I come with you.”


	9. So it begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Bruce strike another deal.

BRUCE

“Absolutely not,” Bruce snaps. He’s standing now, glaring at Jason in an attempt to whisk away the request and to make the boy falter.

“You get to do your job and catch criminals! _I_ get to see the people responsible taken down by _you_! There’s no downside here.” Jason huffs and stares back stubbornly as if there wasn’t anything wrong with what he had suggested.

“You are _not_ coming with!” Batman crosses his arms. “End of discussion.”

“I – “

“I said _no_ , Jason!”

The tone is lot sharper than he means to be and he feels a jab of guilt when Jason winces and lowers his gaze.

“I promise to not interfere,” Jason pleads. “I just… I need to know that they’re away from the streets, that they’re in jail.” His lip quivers again. “That Honey gets peace,” he adds in a soft and sorrowful voice.

“They?” Bruce raises an eyebrow under the cowl. He wants to kneel again and promise Jason that they will be arrested, if Jason only told him where they were but he can’t. Bruce knows Jason’s look – the exact look he had seen on Dick and the same look he had himself when his mother and father died, and to be sidelined when the desire, the _craving_ , for justice burned in every fiber of your body was… torture. To never get answers to questions like: Why did he do it? Had he killed other people? How many others had suffered the same faith? Why this victim in particular? Had they done anything to deserve it? No promises in the world would be enough. Not that he would ever really know the answers. But seeing the culprits get arrested, put on trial and locked away was better than nothing.

“I would’ve take him down myself but he turned out to be part of a gang. I…can’t take down a gang alone.” Jason clenches his fists and Bruce knows he cursed the feeling of weakness and powerlessness. Jason looks up again. Without saying it, Bruce knows that this is Jason’s attempt to get even with help; if Batman doesn’t do it, he might do it himself.

It wasn’t difficult deducing what area the gang kept to. If it was walking distance from here and in Park Row, that wouldn’t be more than 8 blocks from Honey’s apartment. The perpetrator was most likely an earlier client of Honey’s, or possibly her pimp. A woman like her probably didn’t have much valuables so it was not a robbery, no, it was somebody with a grudge for her throat to be cut like it was. The perpetrator also most likely watched her as she bled to death - a sadistic streak meant a personal grudge and the desire to watch her suffer, to draw out her pain and being in a position of power over the victim and enjoying her dying slowly. Finding the scum behind this wouldn’t be too difficult, after inspecting Honey’s body and the apartment – but the problem was Jason and the time limit. The dawn would break in a few hours, which wasn’t enough time to examine apartment, body and evidence and find the crooks and get a confession. In a few hours Batman would have to retreat – which risks Jason disappearing again and maybe even Jason going after them alone, even if he was outmanned and outgunned. Batman grit his teeth. He and the city had failed Jason enough.

Taking Jason with him would be the best outcome, although it’d be a hazardous way to get there. It was a suggestion that grew in his mind, despite his efforts to perish it; if Jason came along, Bruce would control Jason’s whereabouts and close a murder case in one go before sunrise.

He might even get Jason off the streets permanently.

“Jason.” He clenches his jaws. Was this really happening?

“What,” Jason looks at him, questioning and a little distrustful.

“I’ll bring you with me – “

“Really?!”

“ – _if_ you agree to my terms.”

Jason’s glee faltered bit. “What are they?”

“You _will_ follow my orders and - ”

“Okay!” Jason says eagerly, nodding.

“- _and_ you will find somewhere else to live.”

Jason’s expression morphed to anger as his stance changed. “You _said_ no police or –“

“I know what I said. Which is why I suggest you stay at Wayne Manor.”

“At the _Manor_?” Jason says in bewilderment. “I don’t think they want me there after I _stole_ from them!”

“It won’t be a problem. Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth are not to hold grudges.”

Jason presses his lips together and scowls at Batman. “How long do I have to stay there?” he asks, begrudgingly.

“One month,” Batman responds in a serious voice. To his surprise, Jason doesn’t even blink.

“You cannot run away while you’re there either. I’ll know if you do.”

“Okay,” Jason nods. “Are those all of your terms?”

“Yes,” Bruce says, feeling relief Jason agreed. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah,” Jason says.

Bruce puts his hand forward. “Then we shake on it.”

Jason grabs his hand and shakes it, once. His hand lingers a bit before pulling it back. Then: “I need to pack my things.”

\---

Some time later they sit in the Batmobile Alfred had remotely driven from the Cave to the alley. Bruce had stood by as Jason insisted on packing and carrying his stuff by himself, even though it looked like they were going to drop the box any second. He had let his bed stay behind but taken with him the blankets, folded neatly and put into the shoulder bag which he hung across his chest before shoving the contents of one box into the biggest of the two and taken plastic bag with food. Bruce had offered to carry whatever he could, but Jason shook his head determinedly. “I can do it myself. It’s my stuff.” Whether it was on purpose or not, Jason kept his distance even more when his hands were full. which made Bruce go first down the fire escape so that Jason wouldn’t have to turn his back on him.

He hid his smile when Jason whispered a silent “ _Awesome!”_ when he saw the Batmobile wait for them at the bottom of the fire escape. After putting his things in the backseat, Jason settled in the passenger seat while Bruce waited in the driver’s seat, and after making sure Jason was secured, Bruce started the engine and followed Jason’s directions. (He suspected Jason only told him one turn at a time and not the address in fear of being kicked out.)

Finally, Bruce parked the Batmobile in one of Gotham’s thousand alleys next to a red brick building that looked like it was ready to fall apart at any moment.

Jason peeks out the window, studying the alley they’re in and looking up at the building. It was five stories tall, with windows barred up with planks. Some had lights in them.

“This is it,” Jason mumbles. “Well, let’s go!” He begins unbuckling his seat belt.

“You are staying in the car,” Bruce growls, unbuckling his own.

“You don’t know what they _look_ li – “ Jason begins protesting.

“In. The. Car. End of discussion,” Bruce interrupts sharply. “It’s an _order_ , Jason.”

His dark and commanding tone makes Jason close his mouth and sink back in his seat with arms folded and staring straight ahead. Bruce sees his jaw tighten and he knows Jason is biting down whatever he wanted to snap back with.

“This is a communicator,” Bruce explains, holding up a small earpiece. “Press it here and talk into it, and you’ll be talking directly to me. If anything happens, anything at all, you _will_ use it. That’s the second order.” He holds it out for Jason to accept, who ignores him so Bruce puts it on the dashboard instead. “I’ll be back soon.” He opens the door and steps out. Before closing the door, he bends down and points a finger at Jason. “Stay. In. The. Car.” Jason ignores him still. Bruce closes the door and makes his way to the roof.


	10. On the third floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce almost closes a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for being slow with updates lately, I have a bit of writer's block and my new semester just started so things have been a bit hectic.

Starting from the top floor and working his way down, Bruce used the x-ray setting on his cowl to scan for blue skeletons. In the fifth and fourth floor, there were no gatherings of thugs – in fact, there were no more than 13 people in both of the floors, whereas three were sleeping on the floor in the brown hallway amongst shattered glass, syringes and old newspapers. Bruce bent down to each of them, feeling for their pulse and when he found it, he moved on. The building smelled like rotten milk and due to the boarded up windows, airing the disgusting smell out wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. The hallways weren’t long, only containing the doors to 10 small apartments, five on each side, and in between the doors were bullet holes, scratches and traces of heavier objects being tossed into the walls, making the dirty and bleak tapestry fall off in the corners, revealing a pattern from the 70s beneath. Some residents peeked out of the doors as he passed, while others quickly closed theirs and locked it. On the third floor, in the innermost apartment, Bruce saw four blue skeletons sitting around a table.

Listening into their conversation and mocking, rough laughter, Bruce makes his way into the apartment without making a sound. Coming in from the hallway, he steps right into the kitchen, with washed out green walls and a naked and stained wooden floor. In the sink opposite from the door were countless dirty dishes, and next to it, the kitchen counter with stacks of empty pizza boxes. Closest to the wall was a busted fridge with something leaking out of it. _If Alfred saw this place he would get a migraine,_ Bruce thinks as he soundlessly and swiftly steps over the cans to the doorway on the right that led to the living room with the thugs, who were muttering “Fold” and “Hit me” amongst themselves.

Bruce peeks around the corner to see the round table in the middle of the room with the four sitting around it, above them a cloud of cigar smoke had gathered from the stumped cigarettes in an ashtray in the middle. One of the men has faint bruises under his eyes along with a nasty gash across the bridge of his nose. Under the table, Bruce sees some bandages poorly wrapped around a very bruised ankle. There isn’t any furniture in the room except for the table and the chairs. The window behind them is barred with planks from outside and covered with thin and dirty, white curtains. However, the spot in the room that catches his attention the most is the two duffel bags filled with cash in the left corner next to the window. Bruce looks back at the men. Two guns were on the table – the other two were on their owners’ hips.

“Hn.”

Bruce steps out of the shadows.

“Holy shit. It’s Batman,” a thug whispers in disbelief and horror. All of them are frozen, still holding their cards, staring wide-eyed at Batman who looms between them and the exit.

After a beat of silence, everything moves at once. The cards are thrown in the air as two of the thugs reach for their guns on the table, interrupted by Batman who throws two Batarangs, knocking the weapons out of their hands with yelps of pain and surprise, before he lunges forward and punches the leftmost thug in the stomach, knocking his breath out. Hearing the oh-so-familiar sound of wheezing as he bends over and clutches his stomach, Batman plants an elbow on his neck before moving on to the second goon, who fumbles with the gun - before he gets the opportunity to aim and shoot, Batman has knocked it out of the man’s hand, and given him one quick hit to the throat. He gags and falls to his knees where Batman knees him in the face before proceeding to grab one of the chairs and slam it into the chest and face of the third thug who ran at him from the front. He is knocked back with a bleeding nose and whimpers before Batman hits him once in the jaw and he’s gone. The last man, the one with the bruises and the damaged ankle, has limped back up against the wall next to the window and shakily aimed his gun at Batman.

“S-step back! I’ll shoot!” he shouts with a panicked voice.

“Do you know a woman named Hannah Marjorie Carson?” Batman growls, slowly inching forward to the man.

“I don’t know any fucking Hannah! Get back!”

“She was a working girl not far from here. Called herself _Honey_.”

Whatever colour was left on the man’s face had gone. Batman was now close enough for the gun to graze his chest.

“She was killed two weeks ago!” Batman grabs the gun and twists it around, forcing the man to let go unless he wanted his fingers to break too. He tosses it away to the side.

“I – I don’t know, please – “

The thug cowers in front of him, sweat on his forehead and fear in his eyes.

Batman grabs his collar and slams him into the wall. “How did you get your injuries? _Talk_ ,” Batman snarls. Realization dawns upon the man’s face. “I – I was drunk, it –“ he stammers. Batman slams him against the wall again. “Don’t lie to me,” Batman growls.

The man breathes heavily. Swallows.

“There was a woman not far from here, a whore, she – she might’ve mentioned her name was Honey,” the man blabbers.

“And?” Batman snarls impatiently.

“I wanted to take her for her offer, y’know? Nothing illegal about that, right? We were just talkin’ about – about where to go and what it might cost me when this little son of a bitch sneaks up behind me and attacks me with a brick outta nowhere! Fucking insane little shit, right?” He searches desperately for any signs of sympathy in Batman’s face. He doesn’t find any.

“Either way, I’m lying there, in pain and terrified ‘cuz I’ve just been attacked on the street and before I know the fucking whore crushes my ankle and breaks my nose! Before I get up the cunt and the rat has run away,” he spits.

He smiles a twitchy and nervous smile. “Not _my_ fault the bitch dropped dead. This is Gotham; people die like flies here. I mean, who knows, maybe that little bastard is next?”

Batman rages when he turns the thug and tosses him against the window, who grunts in pain before a fist connects with his freshly healed nose. Batman grabs his collar again and moves him away before kicking the boards covering the window away and shoves the thug halfway out into the night.

A yelp of panic comes from the thug as he holds on tightly to Batman’s arm, for any support he can find. He’s breathing rapidly and Batman feel his body shaking already from trying to hold himself up. 

“I’ll only ask once. _Why did you kill Honey_?” Batman roars.

“You won’t let me fall down! Everyone knows you don’t kill,” the thug says desperately, casting a glance towards the asphalt three stories down.

“No, I don’t,” Batman confesses. He pulls the thug back to see poorly concealed relief wash over him. He holds the thug’s face close to his own and whispers coldly: “But a fall from the third floor won’t _kill_ you.” He pushes him back out and relaxes his grip slightly.

“Okay, okay – I’ll tell you! Oh god, oh god, I’ll tell you everything you want to know, just please don’t drop me, oh _please_ – “

“Why did you kill Honey?”

“It wasn’t me, I can’t walk - it was Ralph, it was all him, I swear!”

“ _Why_?” Batman loosens his grip a little more. The man cries out in panic with a face that had turned slightly red as he clung on to Batman’s arm for dear life.

“We – we were supposed to hit a museum downtown like, 6 weeks ago, before they updated their security! I’m the driver – I can’t drive with a busted ankle! We were supposed to have six more duffel bags in the corner filled with jewelry and shit! But because of that skank the plan was foiled and Ralph fucking lost it, man! I pointed him to her corner! But, I swear, I didn’t know he was gonna kill her!”

“Where is Ralph now?”

“I don’t know, he took a walk half an hour ago, he should be back soon! That’s everything, I swear, just pull me up, pull me up, oh  _please_ \- ” Batman pulls him back inside, still by his collar, before he shoves his face into the wall, hard enough to knock him out. If what he was told was true, this Ralph wouldn’t be far away.

He taps on his comms.

“A, send two ambulances and contact the GCPD. Tell them we have four suspects connected to thievery and murder on location.”

“Copy that,” Alfred responded.

Batman turns to the duffel bags. Both were filled with cash in hundred dollar bills, most likely from selling a prized artifact on the black market. Based on what he had been told, it seemed they weren’t beginners when it came to stealing – they knew when some of the museums would update their security – a loophole that left the items at the museums very vulnerable as the new updates would affect the alarms in terms of sensitivity and reactionary time. The guards would be doubled, but many would be paid off or knocked out if one brought enough muscle.

His comms buzzed again. But this time it wasn’t Alfred’s voice that he heard.

“Batman? The man that killed Honey, he’s – he’s here.” Jason’s voice was thin and slightly out of breath.

“Jason? Jason, _where are you!?_ ”

No response. The comms are abruptly interrupted. 

He jumps out of the window and glides to the ground less than a second later. Bruce lands on the asphalt in front of the main entrance of the building and rolls forward before going into a sprint around corner into the small street, where the Batmobile and Jason were. He thinks about the times Dick had disappeared or gotten injured as Robin and his heart had been in shambles, not _knowing_ if he was okay or safe. For _that_ was the worst part. The feeling of powerlessness. Knowing that despite all his training and preparation, there were some things that was going to shake him to his very core.

The Batmobile looked untouched, just as he had left it. He tears open the door to the passenger seat. The empty seat glares back at him.

_Who knows, maybe the little bastard is next?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The X-ray in Bruce's cowl is inspired/taken from the Arkham Games, in case anyone is confused. 
> 
> When I wrote this chapter, I automatically started writing Batman instead of Bruce as he fully became the Batman persona when taking out the thugs on the third floor.


	11. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason faces a choice and ponders over his newfound position

JASON

Batman slams the door of the car shut and Jason sourly gives him the finger as he disappears somewhere up. _Not fucking fair_ , Jason thinks. He sinks lower in his seat, arms crossed and pettily places his feet on the dashboard.

_“You dirty little rat!” Willis slapped Jason hard across the cheek, making Jason taste blood. “Look what you did to my jacket!” He holds it up so Jason can see. Milk drips from the left sleeve._

Jason takes his feet down, grabs his sleeve, brushes off the dirt and scrubs away the mud his shoes had left behind. When it’s spotless, he sinks down again.

After a minute, he grabs the earpiece Batman had left him. It’s dark so Jason can’t see it properly, but it’s small and round with a tiny button on it. He tosses it back and forth in his hands, in an attempt to make the time pass. Jason studies the dashboard hoping to see the mileage on the car, but of course; it’s not a normal car so there isn’t much on it except a control panel with a screen and the steering wheel. He hovers his fingers above the buttons, imagining all the stuff that could happen if he pushed one or all of them. After a minute of debating, he changes his mind. With a groan Jason tosses his hands up in exasperation. “This is so _boring_ ,” he says loudly, to no one. On one hand, Batman had found a loophole in their agreement which Jason sort of respected (he did the same thing at the Manor after all) but on the other hand, Jason was on the receiving end and he didn’t like it _at all_. He considers using the communicator to talk to Batman (or bother him) but he decides against it and it goes into his pocket. He counts the minutes as they pass by in an impossibly slow pace while eating a fresh, juicy, red apple that he’d taken from the Manor.

Several times he lets his fingers glide over the car door opener, itching to open it and stretch his legs and breathe fresh air (or as fresh it can get in a place like this) and not feel so damn claustrophobic in the car. Despite the outer size, the inside isn’t big at all. Jason doesn’t really mind small spaces since he’s slept in many cardboard boxes and hidden in small cracks countless times before, but sitting in a locked place not being allowed to leave felt pretty cramped, especially when he had slept with the night sky as his ceiling for the past… well, who knows how long it had been. At first he’d tried counting the days and the dates to remain a sense of normality but it all got pretty muddled together after a while.

Jason takes a last, satisfying bite of the apple and savors the juices. He leans forward and places the core of the apple on the dashboard, before he freezes at the sight of the man walking past the alley. Even with the distance between the car and the poor streetlight, Jason knows it’s him. Every detail about the man is embedded in Jason’s mind; the height, hair, stubble and movements. It’s same man Jason saw coming down the stairs from Honey’s apartment two weeks earlier. Even though he doesn’t notice the car cloaked in darkness, Jason remains unmoving till the man is out of sight again. Jason exhales shakily. All he can think about is Honey and her cozy apartment with a big bloodstain on the floor. Blood that seemed to be everywhere except in the body where it belonged. Her blank eyes staring at the ceiling, her clothes red with blood and the flesh of her neck exposed to the world, murdered in cold blood for nothing.

There's no way he’s going to miss Batman kicking the living crap out of a fucking killer. 

He hesitates a second before grabbing the car door handle. After all, Jason knows very well what it would mean if he disobeyed orders. Even though he was bigger and faster now than when he lived with Willis, he wouldn’t be able to do jack shit to Batman, who was built like a wall, so he would just have to take whatever punishment Batman would give and hope he wouldn’t get any permanent damage. Feeling the weight of his knife in his pocket, he takes a breath and opens the door before climbing out. He shuts the door quietly and runs as quietly as possible to the main street, where he arrives just in time to see the washed out blue door to the red brick building close to his right.

The street is empty, something that normally would give Jason a sick sense of comfort - tonight it made him tense and stressed, as if as the street and the air itself knew something unusual would occur. He anxiously sneaks closer to the door and nudges it open to reveal a poorly lit hallway with some yellow and dirty doors with numbers on them. He listens intently, and sure enough, he could hear the scumbag disappear up the stairs to the right. Jason automatically locks his fingers around his knife. He tiptoes after the Scumbag and hangs over the banister to see up between the gap of the stairs. A floor above him, Jason sees ugly, long fingers holding the banister for support, moving upwards.

Jason takes a breath to still his shaking fingers and beating heart. He isn't doing anything wrong, he knows that, but he is still defying orders and the whole situation is absurd, making him edgy and tense. What is he even doing? Every experience he’d ever had, every fiber and cell in his body told him to just leave. Leave Batman and the Scumbag and Honey behind. Find a new place to live and start as fresh as it possibly could get.

Jason’s feet don’t move, neither up the stairs to revenge or towards the door to freedom. _It would be the smartest decision,_ he thinks _._ _It would be the best outcome either way; whatever sick stuff goes on at the Manor, I don’t want any part of it. But Batman would come after me for sure. And he would be pissed. He wouldn’t be as nice now that I don’t have anything he wants and he’ll probably throw me to the System._ His heart races. What should he do? Take a chance and flee, and stay on the streets, in hiding from Batman? And possibly the GCPD? It could be doable. Not forever, but still. Or, he could stay and uphold his agreement for Honey’s sake and then go to the Manor where God knows what would happen to him, before he would inevitably end up on the streets again?

Lost in thought, Jason doesn’t initially hear the thundering footsteps of someone running down the stairs two floors above him. First when a distressed voice mutters a “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” that echoes in the hallway, Jason snaps out of it.

Hearing the sudden movements and the distressed voice makes Jason’s instincts kick in: _Hide!_ He spins around at the foot of the staircase, searching desperately for something that would conceal him – but there wasn’t anything in the barren corridor except for the dirty yellow doors, and based on the tempo of figure above him, he didn’t have long. For a second he considers going back to the street but he wouldn’t make it to the alley without being spotted. “Shit,” Jason whispers. He has to hide in plain sight.

He jogs lightly over to the first yellow door of the corridor and slumps down next to it, hanging his head down to conceal his face and relaxing his body just enough for it to seem like he was on a high or sleeping it off; he knows well enough how _that_ looked.

A few seconds later the man is running the last steps and lands not far from where Jason's sitting, before mumbling to himself. Jason picks up “fucking bat”.

He doesn’t want to look up and see who he thinks it is, but he does anyway – and feels his insides sink. It's the Scumbag, striding towards the door in a hurry.

After the blue door closes after him, Jason listens for any sign - anything at all – that Batman's coming to keep his end of the bargain.

_Come on. Show me what you can do. Show me you're trustworthy._

But there’s nothing. The entire building is silent as death. Jason grits his teeth as he makes his decision and gets up. _If you want something, you gotta do it yourself._ A lesson that should be carved into Jason by now. Tightening his fingers around his knife in his pocket, Jason follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm struggling still a bit with writer's block so that's why the updates have been slow. I promise to get better!


	12. Blood spilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse as Jason takes matters into his own hands

JASON

Outside, Jason isn’t surprised to see the Scumbag running away so he immediately runs after. Jason keeps his distance, just close enough so he doesn’t lose the man but far away to not be heard – not that it would matter, Scumbag trampled and sounded like he hadn’t run in years, suffering an asthma attack, wheezing and breathing heavily. Almost at the end of the street, the man swings to the right, into a path between two brick buildings, also with boarded up windows. Jason speeds up and sprints past the alley. He knows exactly where that alley would swing and where it would end up – if Jason hurried he’d block the exit and the Scumbag would be trapped like a rat in a maze. Shortly after, Jason is pressed up against the wall of a building, peeking around the corner to see that the man had slowed down to an anxious walk, jumping out of his skin at the sound of every minor distant car honk and breeze flowing through the alleyway before stopping completely and sinking down with his back against a dumpster, holding his side with eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

_Out of breath. Weak. Good._

The childish part of Jason begs him to pick up the earpiece weighing a ton in his pocket and call for Batman, but Jason ignores it and shoves that part somewhere deep and buries it. This was Jason’s business. _He_ was the one who found Honey’s body, _he_ was the one who knew her so _he_ had to be the one to finish this. Jason didn’t know exactly what the plan was – he wasn’t planning to kill the Scumbag, just… make him hurt somehow.

He inhales, exhales and locks his fingers around his knife in his right pocket again before walking into the dark alley. The closer he gets to where the man is sitting the weaker the light from the street gets but neither the alley or the man aren’t in complete darkness.

Jason remains quiet, edging closer to the man, unblinking and not taking his eyes away from him. The Scumbag was around 40, with a stubble in his thin and stretched face. The long nose, the heavy eyebrows and the small eyes made his face seem sharp and hostile, even from a distance. He was pale and sweaty, thin lips slightly parted from the running, breathing visible clouds. Jason could see a tattoo on his neck, partly covered by the dark cameo jacket and the grey hoodie underneath. Scumbag, in his exhaustion, doesn’t notice anything, too busy to catch his breath. For a moment, Jason studies him and envisions the same man ignoring Honey’s pleading and tears before slitting her throat and observing her as she struggled to breathe and utter her last words, slowly becoming paler from the blood loss, until she is completely unmoving on her own fucking floor.

The man in front of him sluggishly opens his eyes and barely casts one look at Jason before closing them again.

“Get lost, kid,” he grunts.

Jason knows what it seems like. A street rat seeing a man slumped over, perhaps on the verge of passing out or dying with pockets ripe for looting and clothes free for the taking.

Jason doesn’t respond. He grinds his teeth at how the man just sits there and ignores him, at Batman for not doing his job and at himself for being naïve and trusting someone else to keep their word.

The man shifts, taking his hand away from his side and scratches his chin and opens his eyes again to see Jason still there, glaring with hateful eyes.

“Are you fucking deaf? Get lost!” The man snarls harshly, gesturing to the main street.

“I saw you,” Jason whispers coldly. He hadn’t meant for the words to come out, but he couldn’t stay quiet.

The man stands up with a grunt, glaring at Jason with angry eyes before bending forward, just a little bit, and explains in a vicious tone: “I’m having a shitty night. Fuck off before I kill you.”

Jason takes his knife out of his pocket and with a flick, the blade is exposed, gleaming in the soft yellow light from the streetlights far away. A part in him wants to toss away the blade, turn around, leave and call for Batman, while another part takes satisfaction in seeing Scumbag realizing he’s serious.

“What the fuck?” Scumbag laughs mockingly. “Think you’re a big man, huh?” he asks and steps forward, now clearly annoyed at how Jason remains where he is, glaring coldly and now with a knife, taunting him to a fight. Jason studies his opponent. He wasn’t broad and muscular like Batman but he still had the advantage in height, which gave him better reach and speed, but then again, he also had more clothing on and had demonstrated having a ghastly cardio the last minutes, meaning his movements would be sluggish. Not to mention, Scumbag was pretty distressed and had his emotions all over the place, not giving the impression of being the brains over brawn type because if he was, he wouldn’t pick a fight with a kid in an alley when the was a chance the Batman was on your tail. Just like so many low-life criminals, Scumbag was part of the group that edged to fights everywhere, all the time, to measure dicks and mark territory, to spread fear and get a rep for being dangerous. It gave them power. Little power in comparison to actual dangerous people, but still, enough for Park Row standards.

 _He’s a moron with no priorities. Odds are on my side_ , Jason concludes.  

The man is now directly in front of Jason, staring down at him giving off an odor of cigarettes and something sour, burning Jason’s nostrils.

Predictably, Scumbag throws out a right hook, which Jason dodges to the left, proceeding to grab the wrist with his left and stab once – in, out - in the upper arm from below with his right. Hearing the cry of pain and surprise, Jason lets the man stagger backwards with shock in his face, holding his arm where Jason had stabbed. The wound wasn’t deep, as his knife was short, but it was sharp (Jason made sure of that in case of emergencies) so it did its job effectively enough.

Jason kicks the Scumbag’s nuts hard, before he gets over the initial shock of his bleeding and injured arm. The man sinks down on his knees, making a sound similar to a squealing pig, not sure where to direct his attention – the stab wound, his groin or the street rat that caused these injuries in the first place. Jason savors the moment and the sight in front of him before planting his heel in the Scumbags nose, kicking as hard as he can, making him fall backwards with a trail of blood coming from his nose. He lands on his right side first, head bouncing off the asphalt with a nauseating crack. With a groan he lolls himself on his back, instead of putting weight on the bleeding arm.

Taking further advantage of the confusion and pain, Jason places himself above the Scumbags chest. Using his legs to lock the man’s arms to his side, Jason sits down, placing his entire weight on the ribcage. Above Jason’s left knee is the wound he had inflicted less than a minute ago and the warm blood pouring from it had made a growing, dark stain on the man’s sleeve, bleeding onto Jason’s jeans. He ignores the sensation of warm blood on his knee and the disorganized grunts coming the Scumbag’s lips.

“What the fuck…are you- “

Jason grabs the Scumbags head and slams it twice to the asphalt, just hard enough to make his body slack and difficult to regain control over his limbs but making him lose consciousness. Letting go of his head, which lolls to his shoulder with fluttering eyelids, Jason exhales as he gets up and takes a few steps back. It wasn’t scary – it _wasn’t_ – but the adrenaline and the familiarity of being in a brawl made him high on adrenaline and the sound of his own erratic heartbeat. This entire evening had been a fuckshow. He forces himself to breathe slower and to lower his shoulders.

Jason stares at the moaning man in front of him, before he numbingly remembers to wipe the blood off of the blade with the hem of his shirt. With trembling fingers, he pushes the blade back into the handle, and the knife into his pocket before he digs out the earpiece. Holding it close to his mouth, he presses the small button.

“Batman?” His throat is dry. Batman would be furious and raging at Jason for disobeying, but he continues anyway.

”The man that killed Honey, he’s – he’s here.” It doesn’t sound like his own voice. It was thin and trembling and sounded distant, like he wasn’t the one talking.

Batman’s voice is intense and robotic from the earpiece. “Jason, _where are you!_?”

_He’s mad, just like Willis. And I can’t fight back. I can’t run. I’m trapped._

Jason tries to answer, but the words in his throat dies out by his accelerated breathing and racing heart, aided by the chest pains spreading from his core. His fingers, against his will, drop the damn earpiece and it falls and hits the ground and disappears somewhere in the darkness. When the dizziness kicks in, Jason feels his knees hit the asphalt. He clutches his chest, trying to regain control of his breathing and force the panic attack taking over his body to go away. He crumbles, struggling to breathe, tears in his eyes and feeling like he’s gonna throw up, and presses his forehead to his knees and face to his thighs, and all he can do is try to not think about Willis’ fists and boots and whatever Batman would do.

A few feet away from him, the Scumbag stirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written some chapters now and I think the next one will be in a few days :)


	13. The Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past shapes us. A flashback to a different life but not a different lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Contains depictions of violence and abuse.

JASON

The first memory Jason has is when he’s three. Willis is holding him by the throat against a wall, shouting words Jason didn’t understand at the time. Behind Willis stands Catherine, paralyzed, with tears in her eyes and sheer horror on her face. Just before Jason’s eyes roll back into his head and he blacks out, he falls to the floor, violently coughing and gasping for air. Catherine rushes forward, pale and quiet, and with shaking hands she cups his red face with tears streaming down his cheeks before picking him up and holding him, rubbing circles around on his small back, carrying him to the bathroom. Willis disappears out the door and slams it behind him, yelling and cursing at both.

Everything after is a poor balance of scraping by, attempting to create stabilization with Catherine and being thrown into a disrupting and chaotic state of confusion, anger and fear every time Willis walked through the door.

Their apartment only had three rooms; a combined kitchen and living room, one bedroom and one shitty bathroom. Just like it wasn’t much apartment, there wasn’t much furniture. In the living room was a couch with a small table, a TV with three channels and a dining table with four chairs while the bedroom had a mattress with pillows and some blankets, a closet and a narrow bookshelf with not many books in it. In the bathroom was a shower that only sprayed lukewarm water at its best and a washing machine that barely functioned.

On the good weeks, Catherine and Jason would curl up together in the mattress when going to sleep. She would tell him stories and stroke his hair until he drifted away, and when they woke up they would make what Jason called a “surprise breakfast” together. The “secret” was that it was never the same, one thing; it was just whatever they had in the fridge, thrown together to make something edible. If it was just enough for one, Catherine claimed she was on a diet and would give the it to Jason, who would eat half, saying he was full before shoving the rest to her. They both knew the other person was lying; Catherine about being on a diet and Jason about being full after eating half, but neither spoke about it and Jason refused to eat if she wasn’t as well. When she had a day off or just a few hours free from her jobs, she would read to him or they would watch TV together. When she was at work, Jason was left alone since she couldn’t afford a sitter. He didn’t mind. Jason watched TV, played with the neighbor’s daughter or read by himself. On days with good weather, Catherine would take him on walks in the neighborhood, to the park or go grocery shopping, but only in daylight.

On the bad days, Willis came home from wherever he was. Jason asked what Willis did, but Catherine always dodged the question, irritably saying “Not now,” and ignored him or just ruffle his hair and smile coldly. Whenever he was home and sober, they would fight. For better or worse, Catherine had a temper too and could scream just as loudly as he would yell. Jason didn’t like it when they yelled at each other, so he hid in the closet, put on Catherine’s old headset and disc player and turned up the sound. They only had six CDs in the shelf, all of them Catherine’s. Jason memorized all of the songs by the age of five.

When Willis was drunk, which was often enough, she would stay quiet, careful about each word coming out of her lips and tiptoe around in the room and around him, as if she was on a minefield. Jason, on the other hand, froze wherever he was, not moving unless he was told otherwise. He could be still and not make a sound for hours. Sometimes, even through the night, he would stay wide awake, cramped in a corner, ignoring sleep and hunger gnawing at his insides, even if Willis had crashed on the couch and was out cold. During those nights, Catherine had gone to bed and closed the door without looking back because another bad part of Willis being home was how Catherine became distant, irritable and kept Jason at arm’s length at all times. She went to work without kissing him goodbye, stayed out longer and she went shopping alone. If they were lucky, Jason and Catherine could retreat together to the bedroom without fuss. They wouldn’t go to sleep though. They would lie on the mattress under the blankets, listening for any signs of Willis coming for either of them, not moving and breathing quietly, both wide awake. Five times he had come into the bedroom, each time because Catherine had been late with paying the bills and the electricity had been cut off – including the TV. Each time he had been angrier that the previous one, resulting in bruises, black eyes, cut lips and sometimes broken bones.

It was obvious to Jason Willis was like the villain in all of the stories. On particular bad days, Willis was pushed no matter what it was. He would throw the bottle in his hand before pulling Jason by the hair to the bedroom, mutter viciously under his breath before shoving him onto the floor and slam the door behind him. Of course, that would leave Catherine alone with him so Jason stormed out again to ease her pain, resulting in dislocated shoulders, choking, kicks in the stomach and having his arms used to stub cigarettes on, resulting in some nasty scars.

“I’m your father!” Willis yelled. “You are under _my_ roof and you are to follow _my_ orders!” He yelled a lot.

When Jason lied down to protect his stomach from kicks, his back would be exposed to the belt. The best part about that was when he eventually got tired or too angry so he’d leave again. After hearing the door slam, Catherine would get up from her corner, sobbing and bleeding, and carefully help Jason up to the bathroom to clean his wounds, to put band aids on cuts and bandage broken bones. She couldn’t afford going to the hospital.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so, so sorry – “ she would whisper between sobs.

 _Don’t apologize_ , Jason thought. _You’re stuck here, with him, because of me._

A few weeks after Jason started school, Willis stopped intruding into their home. Jason didn’t sacrifice more than a minute to speculate what had happened, because it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter one bit, because now he and Catherine was left alone. Still, the dread that he would one day bust through the door lingered in the air in the apartment to interrupt the fragile joy they’d scrambled to achieve. An unspoken agreement formed between mother and son to smother every memory and nightmare in order to heal the wounds they both had. The months of peace created a false sense of bliss and lulled Jason to believe that now, finally, everything would be okay. He could focus on school and Catherine on work. They would struggle and it would be shit, yet they would have each other and Jason didn’t want anyone or anything else.

Thinking back at it now? It should have been obvious as daylight for Jason that nothing good happens in Park Row.

Catherine started with the pills. Innocent, small, white pills. They didn’t look much different than breath mints.

“This is mommy’s medicine, OK?”

“Okay.”

“Only for adults so it’s very dangerous for kids. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. Can we have porridge for dinner?”

“Jason, this is very important. Repeat after me: Mommy’s medicine is only for mommy.”

Jason repeated and crossed his heart.

In the beginning she’d only take one pill in the mornings in the bathroom or maybe during the evenings after dinner in the kitchen while Jason sat in front of the TV, thinking Jason couldn’t see or wouldn’t notice. After some months the usage increased to two a day. It didn’t affect her like alcohol did to Willis; there were effects, but none violent or seemingly alarming. She would be distant with eyes unfocused, sigh softly out of the blue and sleep a lot more, which Jason didn’t mind. She looked happier, less anxious and woke less up in cold sweat so he let her be. To make things more comfortable, he moved to the couch, and even though it was cold and he missed her stories, it didn’t matter. She was doing better.

About six months after Willis left for the last time, she stopped being discreet about the little orange bottle with the words Jason couldn’t read or understand. Instead of going into the bathroom, she stopped caring whether or not he was in the room before swallowing the pill with water, even going as far as taking one at the dinner table when Jason sat directly opposite her. Jason pretended he didn’t see. That, like many other things, remained unspoken and buried.

At the beginning of the school year, he’d come home as fast as he could to excitedly tell her about what he’d learn at school that day and if she had the time, she’d sit down and help him with homework. Now, she didn’t leave the apartment unless she was going to work or shopping, giving Jason the responsibility of chores and paying the bills. 

On the last day of school of his first year, he came home to find her in bed, lying still and staring at the ceiling with unfocused and hazy eyes. He watched TV before preparing dinner (a cheese omelet to share) and tried to nudge her to eat something, to no avail.

After eating his dinner in front of the TV alone, the phone rang unexpectedly – they didn’t get a lot of calls. Jason hesitated, hoping that Catherine would wake up and answer it, fully present, even for a minute, which she didn’t so he picked up the phone and held it to his ear.

“Is this the home to Catherine Todd?” a tired male voice asked.

“Yes,” Jason responded.

“…Is this – can I talk to Mrs. Todd? Is she home?”

“No, she’s… um. At work.”

“Are you her son?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, I’m calling about something regarding your dad or her spouse, I guess, Willis Todd. Think you can handle giving your mom a message?”

“Yeah.”

“He was found in his cell not long ago, hanging from the ceiling. We don’t know if it was suicide or murder but it’s under investigation. Are you going to claim the body?”

Jason didn’t respond.

“You are the only next of kin, so if you don’t claim the body, he’s going to be cremated or donated to a medical school.”

 “Oh,” Jason forced out at last. His mouth was dry and prickly and his eyes burn.

“Listen, kid, I have stuff to do. If you wanna claim the body, your mom has to come down to the Gotham State Penitentiary within the next two weeks. You got that?”

“Ok.”

They both hung up. Jason stood still in the suddenly cold kitchen, trying to process the information he’d just received. He felt nauseous. After a few minutes of gathering himself, he knocked on the bedroom door and opened it slowly. Catherine laid on the mattress, with her back to him, breathing softly under the blankets. She was so thin and fragile, like a paper doll.

“Mommy?” he murmured softly, shaking her shoulder carefully after kneeling down at the edge of the dirty mattress.

“Mm,” she stirred sleepily, wafting his hand away and not turning.

“Someone called. It was the prison. They said that Willis is dead. If you want the body you need to go the Penny-ten-tea-arry or else he’ll be turned to cream.“

She let out a soft grunt, not acknowledging what Jason had said, still with her pale and bony back to him. Jason felt his eyes well up. He didn’t know what to do. His dad was dead – his violent, villainous, foul-smelling and cruel dad was dead, and his mother was just lying there, like the entire world, and Jason, had ceased existing.

“Mommy, _please_ ,” he sniffled. Tears began dripping down his cheeks. Jason didn’t know what he was asking of her – to get up, to turn around. To cry and acknowledge that it was okay to feel sad or to smile because things would be better and she would stop shutting him out. He didn’t know what he was asking from her, but he needed her to do something – _anything_ \- at all.

After a minute of deafening silence and no movements from Catherine, he wiped his tears and closed the door softly on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a rough chapter to write. I love doing flashbacks and examine someone's past, but Jason's is a rough one. I know what happens to Willis and Catherine in the 80s comics so this is mostly based on that and my own headcanons. 
> 
> I struggled a bit with writing this because I'm a perfectionist and detest leaving stones unturned, so I wanted to write details and conversations, but to write elaborately one someone's past of several years with details would've been to much, so it became like a summarized chapter instead with key moments written with detail.


	14. I'm sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce comes through and Jason lets his guard down, just a little.

BRUCE

Bruce slams the car door shut and presses the comms while scanning the alley for any trace of Jason. How could he be so naïve to think that this would go smoothly?

“A,” he commands and asks coldly. He didn’t need to go into details.

“Locating the earpiece now, sir,” Alfred responds with the same coldness in his voice. Whether it was anger for being careless with Jason or worry or both, Alfred’s calm composure was a beacon. Having Alfred as support probably the biggest advantage Batman and Bruce could have, especially when out in the field - Alfred was calm and it added a sense of security that stifled the rumbling concern and uncertainness that came in times of need and despair. Bruce had lost count of the times Alfred had, in one way or another, been irreplaceable in solving problems Bruce couldn’t handle alone.

“It’s not far away, I’ll guide you. In the meantime, I’m happy to announce I have found evidence that linked these men to several break-ins in the past two years which I will forward to the police immediately.”

Bruce uses the grappling hook and launches himself into the air, using the speed and momentum to spread his cape and glide towards the location of the earpiece, following Alfred’s directions. It didn’t take more than 10 seconds before Bruce could make out something moving in the narrow and dark alley between the brick buildings below him.

Two shadowy figures; one an adult, looming over a child, pressed against the wall.

Bruce aims, and too late, the adult turns to face two boots land in his chest, forcing him backwards with considerable effort. Bruce lands on the grimy asphalt and without stopping, he strides forward, malice oozing out of his pores.

“Wh – what the fuck – I –“ Ralph stammers in astonishment. Whatever trace of the violent and dangerous criminal that were here a second ago was gone, replaced with a cowering wimp, like every other thug on his level had been when facing Batman. Bruce connects his fist to the man’s jaw, who staggers backwards, pathetically pleading excuses, before Bruce grabs his collar and snarls: “Did you kill Hannah Marjorie Carson?”

Ralph’s eyes widen in shock. “How did you…?” he gasps.

“Answer me! Did you or did you not kill the woman who called herself Honey?”

“I – she ruined – “ Somewhere in his babbling he must’ve realized that he’d lost and that this was the end of the road for him.

Bruce tightens his grip and Ralph crumbles.

“She _sabotaged_ us, she-“ he begins yelling before Bruce lets go of the collar and punches him again, making him fall again and knocking him unconscious. Bruce lingers above the man, memorizing his face and analyzing the other damages he had – especially the bleeding arm. Bruce turns to face the bigger and far more precarious challenge.

Jason is pressed towards the wall, clutching his shoulder and even in the darkness, he’s pale as a sheet, staring at Batman with sheer terror in his face and sweat on his forehead.

Bruce regrets having Jason seeing the scene just now, but the quicker he dealt with the thug, the quicker this could be over with and Jason could come with him to the Manor and away from everything else. Keeping the distance between them, Batman moves to stand in front of Jason before kneeling down. _Flight-fight-freeze response. He freezes_ , Bruce registers automatically.

“Is your shoulder okay?” He asks in what he hopes is an earnest and kind voice as possible. Like on the roof earlier that night, Bruce makes sure his hands are visible and his movements are calm and slow. Jason closes his mouth. His breath switches between being fast and uncontrolled and holding his breath for short periods. He nods – or attempts to, but it comes out more like a twitch. “Is it dislocated?” he tries. Putting it in place wouldn’t be a problem; Bruce had done it so often he could do it without blinking. But coming close enough to put his hands on Jason’s damaged self that was in a state of panic, already stemming from a place of mistrust and anxiety? The alternative was to wait for the ambulance, but strangers and the presence of police could drive Jason further into a corner and further distance himself. Bruce didn’t want to do this forcefully, but it was necessary.

“I can tell it’s dislocated. I can –“

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch me,” Jason suddenly spits harshly.

Bruce lowers his hands that had attempted to reach out. Jason’s eyes remained unblinking, looking somewhere past Bruce and the now, lost in thoughts, reliving a past incident Bruce could only imagine. The boy was like a cornered animal, unable to separate carrot from stick after months, or perhaps even years, of what Bruce presumed was physical and/or emotional abuse and neglect before being left to himself alone in the streets of Park Row.

“I’m not going to touch you unless you allow me,” Bruce explained calmly. “But we have to fix your shoulder.” He let Jason process the information for a bit.

“There will be ambulances here soon, so the medics can do it if you don’t want me to do it.”

Jason blinks, wakes up from his deep thoughts and shifts, his mouth a closed line and jaws clenched. He pulls his legs to him and shakily stands up, back still pressed against the wall and still clutching his right shoulder.

“I’ll do it myself,” Jason breathes heavily, pale and a little shaking.

 _Stubborn,_ Bruce thinks _. Used to deal with things himself. Doesn’t know who to trust, how to ask for help or how to accept it._

Bruce stands up slowly, careful to keep his shoulders slumped and hands in the open.

“You don’t have to,” he responds quietly.

Jason blinks. Something softens in his expression and becomes a tad more relaxed than before, even with the lingering skepticism and distrust.

Jason swallows and bites his lip.

“You’re – you’re not gonna hit me?” His voice now a little softer but shaking.

“No.”

Jason blinks again and his eyes are blank for a second.

“Why do you think I’m going to hit you?” Bruce asks quietly.

Jason pushes himself away from the wall and eyes Bruce up and down, slightly uncertain if Batman really could be trusted.

“That’s what adults _do_ when they’re angry,” Jason mumbles. “And you’re angry. I can tell,” he adds, barely louder than a whisper as he glances at Ralph. Bruce shudders at the implied history behind the words, feeling nausea coil in his stomach. _What happened to you?_ A silent fury rose in Bruce, directed at the boy’s parents, or guardians, that had failed him so miserably that the thought of not following an order would result in beatings, creating such a severe distrust in people that would most likely affect him for the rest of his life. Jason's small shoulders had too much to carry for someone his age.

“I was angry at _him_ , not you,” Bruce says softly. “I want to help you. Let me start by fixing your shoulder, okay?”

Jason looks back at him, again with skepticism.

“Or the medics can do it. It’s up to you. _You_ get to choose.”

Faint ambulances could be heard in the distance.

Jason thinks for a few seconds. Then, a whisper hurriedly escapes his lips: “No, you - you can do it.”

“Okay,” Bruce says in relief. Jason takes a step forward and shakily takes his hand off of his shoulder, leaving it in the open and vulnerable, a small sign of faith from the boy. A warmth spread in Bruce’s chest of joy and pride on Jason’s behalf. It was certainly progress.

“I’m going to kneel and put my hands on your shoulder, then I’m going to count to three and I’ll put it in place. If you want to stop, just say so, and I’ll stop. All right?”

Jason nods, a bit more controlled this time.

Bruce takes two calm steps forward, hands in front of him with palms exposed to Jason, who analyzes at his every movement cautiously. When close enough, Bruce kneels down and gently eases his hands closer to Jason’s shoulder, before finally, laying them on the small, tense arm and shoulder. Jason winces a bit under his touch.

“I’m going to feel your shoulder and upper arm a bit to see how serious it is.”

Jason doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away either.

Bruce squeezes gently and feels around with his fingers the best he can to not make it more painful than it already is. It was swollen, in need of an ice pack, and probably already started to bruise. When taking him back to the Manor, Alfred would do a second check-up on him – he had, after all, much better medical skills than Bruce had.

“On the count on three, I’ll put it back. Ready?”

“Just do it,” Jason hisses under his breath.

“One…two…three!”

The shoulder snaps back with a nauseating crack, accompanied with a grimace from Jason and a short grunt of pain.

“You might keep it in a sling when you get back to the Manor.”

“I don’t need it,” Jason grumbles, carefully moving his shoulder in circles to test mobility.

“Mr. Pennyworth has far superior medical skills compared to me,” Bruce smirks. “He’ll most likely want take a look at it tomorrow.”

The sirens were closer now.

“Do you feel any pain?”

“No,” Jason admits while Bruce stands up. “Thank you,” he adds in a quiet tone.

Bruce turns away and walks over to the man on the ground. He presses the comms again.

“Drive the Batmobile as close as possible.”

“Yes, sir. Did you find young Jason?” Despite Alfred’s calmness, Bruce sensed the worry underneath.

“He’s fine and with me.”

“That’s a relief,” Alfred exhales. “I suspect you don’t want the expensive, custom-made earpieces Lucius made lying about in a street for anyone to pick up? It’s a little to your left.”

Sure enough, Bruce picked it up after a second of squinting in the darkness.

“I have it.”

“The Batmobile is parked at the mouth of the alley,” Alfred continued. Bruce hears the engine rumble in the main street, before he sees the front wheel and the hood partly block the alley not far away, illuminated by the weak and pale yellow lights. 

Bruce hangs up and bends down, lifting the thug by the collar.

“Come on,” he signals to Jason peeking curiously at him.

“You’re still gonna take me to the Manor?”

“A deal is a deal.”

Jason walks next to him, hand rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly, while Bruce drags the thug along.

“I thought you changed your mind after I…” Jason’s words die out, but Bruce understands what he means.

“I didn’t.”

“…You call your car the _Batmobile_?” Jason raises his eyebrow.

“You don’t like it?”

“The badass-factor sinks with 40% if you named it. 90% if you named it _that_.”

“It does not,” Bruce argued. “Besides, I didn’t name it.” The memory of 9-year old Dick putting ‘bat’ in front of everything related to Batman flashed in his mind, leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

“Was it the person you talked to? On your radio thing?” Jason asks.

Bruce presses his lips together. He’s said too much.

“Sit in the car and _stay_ there. I won’t be gone long.”

Jason’s teasing smile faded a bit, before he nodded and opened the door and got into the passenger seat without any more fuss.

Bruce walked around the hood and made his way to the cars with blue and red lights blinking in front of the building he had infiltrated not long ago to confront the gang. He catches the attention of a medic, who – after getting over her initial surprise – rushes forward to meet him and the bloodied Ralph with a stretcher. While she takes Ralph away on the stretcher, Bruce is greeted by a police officer. Bruce informs her of the apartment number, the thugs and the case of break-ins, including Honey’s murder, careful to leave Jason’s name out of it. The officer writes everything down on a notepad and thanks him.

Bruce returns to the Batmobile, half expecting to see the seat empty again. To his pleasant surprise, he sees Jason, still there, resting his head on the cool window and looking out of it with his mouth half open, fogging the glass with every exhale. Bruce sits down in the driver’s seat.

“Seatbelt,” he grumbles.

Jason fastened his seatbelt. Bruce could tell by the clumsy and sluggish movements that the night’s events had taken its toll on him and the kid was exhausted. Jason sinks back in his seat, eyelids droopy, yet not succumbing completely to sleep.

Bruce starts the engine, which makes a satisfying purr under the hood, growing louder once he hits the pedal and speeds up. They drive for a while in silence, Jason resting his forehead on the window again, sleepily looking at the streets as they pass by.

“…You’re tired,” Bruce says, hoping it would edge Jason to sleep, as if stating it out loud would have an effect.

“Mm,” Jason grunts in response.

“Go to sleep.”

Jason grunts again, not sliding his eyes completely shut.

Bruce huffs in irritation - if Jason didn’t go to sleep by himself soon, he’d have to drug him to prevent him from seeing the Batcave and the connection to the Manor – effectively giving away his identity. Even though he’d come far, Jason didn’t trust him enough to fall asleep in front of him yet. Bruce could push driving around for maybe 10 more minutes before Jason would know something was up and possibly freak out.

In a different lifetime, Thomas Wayne sat on his Bruce’s bed, huddled up next to him under the covers to tell him a goodnight story and make him fall asleep, breathing such life into the characters and plot that Bruce got sucked in and mesmerized, every time. Bruce’s favorites had always been the ones his father had invented himself instead of Disney or other premade ones, leaving everything to the imagination and doing voices for the different parts and letting Bruce chime in if he was stuck on a part. Bruce wondered if anyone had told Jason a goodnight story, or sat by his bed until he fell asleep, providing the safety and comfort only a parent could before the night. Stories had worked on Dick when he was younger, although not always. Usually when he had tired himself out and didn’t have the energy of 10 children at once.

He had driven in one, long a circle around Gotham and was about to finish the second. Did he really need to drug Jason? Bruce turns to say something, but stops the words on their way out of his mouth by the sight of Jason who had finally drifted off, his head leaning back and mouth hanging open. Not long after, he parks in the Batcave where Alfred is waiting patiently.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this but didn't like how this turned out.


	15. A missing piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is taken back to the Manor, but Bruce can't relax yet.

BRUCE

Alfred closes the door to Jason’s bedroom door. After parking in the Cave, Bruce had changed immediately before carrying Jason up to the bedroom like he had done less than a week before. Alfred, always ready for any situation, had re-arranged the bedroom with new sheets and placed a new carafe filled with water along with a second bowl fruit on the nightstand. He had ignored Bruce trying to convince Alfred go to sleep as well while they walked up the stairs; Bruce with Jason in arms and Alfred with the box containing Jason’s things.

“Well then, Master Bruce. Now that we have a moment, perhaps we could chat?”

Bruce turned around to face Alfred in the dimly lit hallway. He waits for Alfred to catch up so that they walk together towards the kitchen.

“What’s on your mind?”

“For starters, I… must deeply apologize for not noticing Master Jason’s movements tonight. If I had noticed, he wouldn’t have a damaged shoulder and done what he did. This is the second time I've -” 

He cuts himself off.

“Alfred, it’s not your fault. I was careless. I should never put him there in the first place, I…” Bruce takes a deep breath and shakes his head. What had he been thinking?

Alfred puts his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. "It's not your fault, Master Bruce."

Bruce smiles at the elderly butler. "Not yours either, Alfred."

"Master Jason is safe and sound, and here with us, and that is all that matters." Alfred removes his hand and they resume walking. 

“However, I am… curious as to why you taken such an interest in young master Jason, so I will be straightforward. Is it because of Master Dick?”

Bruce sighed. He had anticipated this. Dick leaving had been…aggravating. It was more frustrating when he came to visit, as it didn’t change that Dick had left without a second thought to foster his own career as Nightwing. The manor had lost some of its light because of Dick’s absence, but Jason was not there to replace Dick or anything else and he was certainly not taken in to make Bruce a little less lonely.

He was _not_.

“It’s not about Dick. He’s a good kid, that’s all.”

“I do not mind him staying here at all, but then perhaps a foster home is more suited?”

“I can’t. He’s… stubborn. Scared. I have to help him in any way I can, and if that means he lives here for a while, then so be it.”

“I know, Master Bruce.” Alfred’s smiled warmly. “To aid however you can is a part of who you are as a person.”  

They walk in silence for a bit.

“What about your secret, sir? Will you let him in on your night job, for a lack of better phrasing?”

“No. It’s best if that stays hidden, even if it’ll be stressful keeping it from him. But I don’t like the idea of lying to him.” Bruce sighed. What Jason needed the least was an adult he didn’t trust and that didn’t trust him back. But him not knowing was ultimately _safer_.

“I must agree on that.”

They arrived to the kitchen where the crack of dawn could be glimpsed in the windows in the faraway distance. The early sunshine dyed the clouds a shade of pink, mixed with several shades of orange and blue. Bruce leaned on the counter, deep in thoughts while Alfred started fixing them both a cup of coffee.

“Although I am proud of you to take Master Jason like this, I have ask you if you have thought this all the way through, Master Bruce.”

Bruce frowns as he snaps his gaze to Alfred.

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten the Gala you are graciously hosting? The Gala taking place in this very Manor in six days?”

Bruce closed his eyes and rubbed them. In the midst of finding Jason and pursuing him to come to the Manor, he’d forgotten.

“I forgot. Is there any way –“

“We certainly cannot cancel.”

“But – “

“It requires _your_ presence, Master Bruce.”

“I – “

“No making up excuses, sending an anonymous donation or pushing it to Lucius.” He hands Bruce a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee. “You’ve made a commitment. Now, commit.”

Bruce sighed. “I don’t mind the event itself. I just – I don’t want Jason to get spooked or overwhelmed.”

Alfred took a sip of his own mug. “Understandably, Master Bruce. However, if the past few days has shown us anything, it is that Master Jason is capable of much more than the average child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm been very slow with uploading chapters, and I just want to say sorry! I've been busy with studies, so I haven't been able to write as much as I've wanted BUT I'll probably upload another chapter within this week, which will be a bit longer than this one.


	16. The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Willis is gone, life continues for the remaining Todds. But despite Jason's efforts, everything spirals out of control.

Not long after the news of Willis' death, Catherine had transitioned from pills that looked like breath mints to pills in different colours and sizes. Who knew what they were made of. They didn’t come in prescription bottles anymore, but rather small black bottles without tags on them. “This is mine so don’t touch it,” Catherine said strictly, all softness gone, replaced with hollow cheeks and a hostility that wasn’t there before.

The summer came and went like the last year; Jason did chores while Catherine worked her jobs and overall, it wasn’t a bad system – it worked and they managed, even though they had regressed to strangers, quietly working towards what happened to be a common goal – food and shelter - instead of mother and son. When Willis was around it was chaotic and tense – but at least they talked. They spent time together.

Jason despised it. He hated the pills even with their pretty colours and the satisfactory sigh Catherine made after swallowing them during the morning before she left for work and when she came home, and Jason hated that he knew exactly when she was high and that he could estimate when she would come down again so that he could get her to eat.

Jason lost count of the times he would stand in the bathroom with the pills in his hands, wanting to flush them down the toilet and out of their lives like the poison they were. He only had to twist his hand and watch them fall down like snow. Jason never did, of course. He couldn’t cause her more pain than what she already was in because it was his fault everything was happening; if she wasn’t on something, she was sweating, shaking, pale and miserable. He couldn’t force her through more – it would break her for good and that would break _him_. If Jason didn’t exist Catherine wouldn’t be where she was. If Jason didn’t exist, Catherine would be happy, living a different and better life.

\---

After Jason started his second year, it was as if Catherine quietly resigned from the world, constantly calling in sick to her jobs until she just gave up and stopped leaving the apartment altogether. Despite Jason’s efforts to save money wherever he could and the insurance check they received from Willis’ death in Gotham custody, the money was limited, even before Willis died. Now the biggest chunk of the share went to Catherine’s pill storage, flowing out of the piggybank like sand between fingers, and less and less was set off to rent and food. Jason started to grow desperate. There was always too little money, no matter how much he saved and by the time winter came that year, Jason had begun pickpocketing and looting in the streets even though he wasn’t good at it and was caught many times and often beaten up the ones he'd stolen from. 

Jason thought about hiding the cash he had at hand to cut Catherine’ addiction off at the roots; if she didn’t have money, she wouldn’t get the drugs and it would force her to detox. But even if he wanted to, there wasn’t any place in the apartment decent enough for a hiding spot and especially not somewhere he could hide money, and even if he could hide it, there was also the chance that Catherine would do other things as payment for drugs. So he let the money be.

Jason was 7 and a half years old when he realized that he truly didn’t exist in his mother’s world anymore, replaced by whatever safety and relaxation pills and highs provided her. Jason knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but hoping that Catherine would one day react to her son sitting bruised in the kitchen during school hours instead of being at school. One day she would ask why he was at home and not in math class. He would answer that he couldn’t leave her to herself and then she would listen and sober up and go back to work. He’d go back to school. It was still a small chance they could have a normal life.

 _It’s fine_ , Jason thought. _Everything will be fine. I just gotta do a little more. Then mom will be better._

\---

Jason loved school. He really did. Unlike the other kids, he devoured his homework and genuinely looked forward to each class. He thrived when the teachers picked him to write the answer on the blackboard and when he got his tests back with A’s on them. Jason didn’t want to quit school. Never, ever. He wanted that one thing for himself, that one place where he could feel like a part of something, play with other kids and get away from everything, even for a bit. An escape. Over New Year’s he realized he couldn’t afford to be selfish. House chores, taking care of Catherine, looting, pickpocketing, school and homework was too much for him to handle all at once. He was on the brink of falling apart. The irony of it all was that when he looked in the mirror he looked more like Catherine than ever; thin and pale with gangly arms and dark circles under hazy and unfocused eyes. A poster child for the misery that was Park Row. After winter break he quit school, cold turkey. Kids quitting school suddenly, especially in Park Row wasn’t exactly unusual and nobody asked for details when he called to let them know he was transferring.

It was what he had to do, to keep things going. Even though he'd miss school, he got more time to go out on the streets and focus on his chores. With time, he got better at stealing and pickpocketing, knowing better where to run and who to strike, and in addition, his cardio and stealth got better, although on account of weight and muscle mass.

 ---

As time passed, pills weren’t enough anymore. There were some other drug addicts in the apartment complex and Jason had seen glimpses of them here and there when they were out begging for money to their high and it was enough to know the basic process of taking drugs; it escalated when whatever you took didn’t get you high enough, so you take the next thing, and the next, and the next and you continued getting high until you died, unless a holy power intervened and forced you to take a 180 degree turn. Catherine’s next step was heroin. A little after Jason’s ninth birthday, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of needles next to her mattress because he’d made it a habit to check her pulse and temperature during the mornings before she got up and before he went out to find food and pick pockets and purses.

Seeing the needles, a dirty spoon and the one lighter they owned was like hearing Willis coming through the door again. Malice never left their lives, it had only mutated into something else and it was killing them, killing her, slowly.

\---

Jason sat opposite her, pushing his last meatball back and forth with his fork while Catherine barely ate, almost nodding off.

Jason cleared his throat. “Mom?” he asked hesitantly.

She rubbed her cheek absentmindedly. “Mm?”

“Are you – um, are you doing okay?”

Catherine looked up from her plate. “What d’you mean?” She smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Why’re you asking me that?”

“You haven’t eaten much,” Jason pointed out, nodding at her barely touched spaghetti and meatballs.

“’m not hungry,” she sighed. He knew that. She ate less, puked more and only wore sweaters.

Jason inhaled and held his fork a little tighter.

“Mom, I – _Iwantyoutostopwithdrugs._ ” The words rushed out of him with one breath. He shrank in his chair, not daring to look up.

A soft giggle escaped her. “It’s not dangerous, Jason. I’m doing fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Jason mumbled. “You’re barely eating and you don’t go out anymore.”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“Mom –“

She got up and left the table and shut the bedroom door after her.

\---

Jason tried harder to spend time with her after that failed attempt. He rubbed her back and held her hair when she vomited, he made sure to put a bucket next to the mattress before going to sleep, and he emptied and rinsed it in the mornings she had thrown up. He dragged her to the couch and forced her to watch more TV to get her moving, even if it was just from one room to another and he brought her water whenever she had a dry mouth, which was almost all the time. He helped her wash up and shower, and tried to not look at her bruised arms filled with needle marks. He read to her before falling asleep for the night. Maybe, just maybe, if he used actions instead of words then… what exactly?

Jason didn’t really know anymore. The light at the end of the tunnel he had reached for desperately for the past years seemed to slip further and further away the more he ran towards it. If Catherine didn’t get better, maybe that was just the way thing were going to be. But he was going to do all he could to keep her alive. His own life be damned.

\---

He lights up the cigarette and studies the flame as it lights up a burning orange, breaking the darkness in the apartment. It’s the middle of the night and he’s hungry, but there’s nothing to eat. He fumbled to feel his nose and touched the bridge to find it swollen and had probably turned a nasty shade of purple, but at least it didn't feel broken. Whatever. He’d fucked up, miscalculated, and taken a wrong turn, trapping himself with two guys after his tail, adamant on getting that torn-up wallet back. Jason had long ago learned when a battle was lost and he needed to give up, so he’d quietly given the wallet back. They still beat him up, though, which was fine; Jason didn’t expect anything else. On his way back he’d found the half-empty cigarette pack in the hallway, left behind, calling his name, begging to be picked up. Without thinking he took it like it was his, like he’d accidentally dropped the carton on his way out. Now he was hungry and cigarettes were the only thing he had. Nicotine curbs appetite, a kid at school had told him once.

Jason put the end to his lips and inhaled. The smoke tasted like menthol and it was disgusting. He immediately fell into a coughing fit, clutching his chest as the burning sensation spread throughout his lungs and made him want to vomit. After a few minutes he straightened up again and forcibly inhaled the smoke one more time, more determined now. It didn’t go too well then either, but on the third try, he coughed a little less and managed to exhale a puff of smoke before gagging. Jason forced himself to finish it, feeling a little more in control and a little less hungry. After sitting in the dark for a few minutes, he ignited a second.

\---

Jason settled on a kitchen chair next to the couch where Catherine was laying, dozing off. Even though it had been a typical, grey and sour January, there was soft sunlight shining through the windows, making the room lighter and somehow calmer. Jason opened up his new book on the first page. It was ‘Alice in Wonderland’, which he had gotten at a flea market some blocks away. The tag only said 2$ but Jason wasn’t risking it – he snagged it when no one looked at him and disappeared before he was noticed. Developing sticky fingers and disappearing afterwards were skills he had that he had finessed over the years, and was secretly proud of. And he wouldn’t call stealing books _stealing_ per se – it was more like collecting. Books contained knowledge and stories, free properties for everyone to have. Jason’s new one thing.

He opened to the first chapter and started to read to her, his raspy voice only accompanied by her slow, slightly uneven breathing, the distant noise of traffic and shouting he had learned to tune out a long time ago. About midways through the first chapter, he abruptly stopped to the sound of Catherine coughing. He quickly reached for the glass of water on the floor and put it to her lips, supporting her neck as she greedily gulped down the water from the glass he held to her mouth.

“Thanks, baby,” she whispered softly before lying back down. Jason put the glass back down and try to find the page he was on. “You’re welcome,” he smiled.

“The weather’s nice.” Her brow creases at the sight of the sunny outdoors through the window.

“Yeah, the weather’s been nice this week,” Jason nodded. Better weather meant more people which meant more wallets. He'd have to make a trip later.

“What day’s it?”

“Wednesday, I think. About one o’clock.”

She turned her head to look at him, a flicker of concern in her eyes when Jason met them. “What? Do you need the bucket?” He began putting the book down and was about to stand up when she shook her head.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” she asked. It was innocent enough and weirdly, a good sign - she was clear in the head and interested in her surroundings. Jason sank back down and looked at her, in proper light for the first time in a long time. Thin, pale and purple circles under her hazy and tired eyes. Not much change, with the exception of her flushed cheeks from the heroin along with constant sleepiness. Jason sighed and smiled somberly.

“I have the day off. I told you that.” He brushed her hair out of her face and stroked her warm cheek.

“Oh. Must’ve forgot,” Catherine blinked.

Jason straightened up and flipped to the page where he left off. “I’ll continue. Let me know when you need something, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She pulled her blanket to her chin and started to drift off.

\---

He was so happy on the way home, almost to the point where he’d burst out singing and skipping to give the bubbling joy an outlet. Jason had been extraordinarily lucky and stumbled across a delivery truck with baked goods so he’d managed to snatch some rolls and a baguette before the deliveryman returned. Enough food for a week, at least. In addition, he’d come across a copy of Frankenstein, which piqued his interest when browsing an old, worn-down bookstore down the street. That evening was going to be great – he’d light a candle, curl up in the couch with a roll and his new book, lose himself in the words on paper and get drawn into the fascinating gothic world of Mary Shelley.

Those were his plans. 

The faint smell of vomit was the first thing that hit him, even before he opened the door. He envisioned that Catherine had puked somewhere while on her way to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water or on the way to bathroom but didn’t make it in time. _Fuck_.

Only after he’d closed the door and about to put the bag down, he realized.

The door to the bathroom was open and on the floor, he saw a glimpse of her long hair and a slender hand belonging to her body. Jason froze and for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

_No. No, no no no._

“Mom?”

_She’s asleep. Maybe she just fell asleep._

The handle of the bag slipped out of his fingers and hit the floor, making the rolls scatter around his feet.

He couldn’t look away from her hand as he edged closer. She wasn’t moving.

“Mom?” he tried again. _Move. Please move. A twitch. Anything._

Soon enough he stood in the doorway, not taking his eyes away from the sight even though his eyes were burning. Fallen out of her hand next to her was a syringe, and on her arm was a fresh needle mark mixed in with old ones and bruises. An ugly sight uncovered by her folded sleeve. Her lips, once vibrant pinks and reds, were now pale purple. Green eyes that used to glow in the darkness with mischief as she told her stories were now glazed over, unblinking and staring at nothing.

_She’s not dead, she’s not, she’s not –_

He wanted to say something, anything, and to grab her shoulders and shake until she woke up again and to plead for her to at least give him a chance to say goodbye and that he loved her, to scream in her face that she couldn’t leave, after everything that had happened, _she wasn’t allowed to do this to him_ –

His chest was hollow and fingers numb as he slowly bent down and felt for her pulse one more time, putting two fingers to her cold neck.

Gone. Unmistakably, irrevocably, undeniably. Dead. 

Death by heroin. Alone, in a bathroom, with vomit in the toilet bowl. The end of a life.

Tears burned his cheeks as a sob escaped him and he buries himself in the crook of her neck, letting the tears stain her shirt. Had she called for him? Had she cried, when she understood that he wasn’t there? _If_ she understood he wasn’t there? Did she know she was going to die? Had she done it on purpose?

“Mommy…” he wailed, cupping her cheeks, looking for any glimmer of hope that she would return to him. When he didn't find it, a howl escaped him, starting from the pit of his stomach, forcing it's way through his aching chest and up his throat.

\---

Jason didn’t know if he fell asleep or blacked out, but he jerked awake to find himself curled against his mother’s side, holding her very cold hand between his own. Seeing her profile in the yellow light of the bathroom made him see how straight the bridge of her nose was, which he had noticed before, of course - but now it felt like it was the first time. She was beautiful.

Jason somehow managed to sit up even though everything ached and his body weighed a thousand pounds. Looking out to the living room still in weak moonlight told him he either had slept for a few hours or for almost 24 hours. Both equally likely with his fucked up schedule and borderline insomnia in the past months. Jason looked back at his dead mother next to him. Her hand, still in his, were stiff with pale blue nails, matching her lips like lipstick and nail polish, dressed for a night out. He laid her hand down, gently, before he shuffled to the bedroom. Packing his bag with clothes and whatever valuables he had was a mechanic process, as if he checked off a list he had gone through a million times.

He cleaned up the bedroom and the kitchen as best as he can as well; folding her clothes and put things in their place. “Home” was a loose term - the apartment was the place he’d eaten and slept in but also the place Willis had broken everything again and _again_ and now it was Catherine’s deathbed. When finished, Jason had stuffed his old school backpack to the brim and next to it, the bag with the rolls he’d taken earlier. Standing in the doorway to the bedroom he saw the entire kitchen and living room, and not the bathroom. Standing there, the rooms looked like they always had. Naked, gray and a little ruined, as if the Todds and every shitty thing that happened in those rooms had never existed. 

Jason kneeled next to Catherine for the last time. He held her hand again and kissed it, softly, feeling tears drip down his cheeks and onto her hand. He didn’t want to let her go.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he cried. “I’m sorry I did this to you. I’m sorry I didn’t stop it.” He squeezed her cold fingers and brushes her cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll get a gravestone, with angels on it. Once I have enough money, I’ll get one. I swear.”

Jason squeezed her hand one last time and gently laid it in on her stomach, before leaning forward and kissed her forehead. He rubbed away his tears that fell on her with his sleeve and let two fingers glide over her eyelids to close them for good.

\---

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“There’s a dead woman here.”

“How old are you? Are you all right?”

“There’s a dead woman here. Send someone.”

Jason gave the address and apartment number.

“An ambulance is on its way. Are you in danger? Is someone threatening you?”

Jason hung up and left. With his things he crossed the street, hid in the shadows and waited. Soon enough, an ambulance and a police car came. Two medics disappeared inside along with the officers before they remerged, carrying out her body covered by a white sheet on a gurney before lifting her into the back of the ambulance, closing the doors and driving off with the blue sirens echoing in the night. Jason waited a little longer to see the police officers come out as well, probably after attempting to question other residents about Catherine or the anonymous caller to no avail. No one opened up to police this time at night.  He saw them talk and he wondered if they knew that Catherine Todd was a mother. That she loved sitcoms, the colour pink, sunflowers, dancing and pasta carbonara. After a minute, the officers got into their car and drove off too.

Jason stood still for a long time, hidden away in the shadows. Thoughts were swirling in his head, none of which he could focus on, even if he tried. He felt wrong; everything felt numb, yet it was as if someone had torn open a hole in him and he was bleeding out on open street. For a second he wanted to laugh. It was so fucked up. Everything - _everything_ he had done up until now had been for nothing. He had never felt more pathetic in his life, not even that time he'd tried to fight back against Willis and got knocked out with one punch to the jaw.He'd been powerless then and he was powerless now.

Where was he even supposed to go?

At the sound of the first morning traffic, Jason snaps back to reality to see the morning sky and first touches of sunshine reflecting off of the thousands of broken windows in Park Row. Normally, he'd wake up on the couch, fix some sort breakfast and eat it with her while watching TV before going out to get money to pay next rent.

_Food. Shelter. Same goals. Focus._

Jason takes a breath. Holds it, then shakily exhales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some edits; I noticed I wasn't too satisfied with some things after I first uploaded this chapter, which is why some things are changed.


	17. Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce tries while Jason angsts a bit. Also: books!

BRUCE

It was well into the afternoon and Jason hadn’t woken up yet. Sometimes he stirred, twitched and mumbled in his sleep, telling Bruce he was the restless-sleeper type, which wasn’t strange at all considering Jason’s life so far, and Bruce knew far too well what horrors could dwell in the mind of a young boy who had gone through traumatic experiences.

Bruce had pulled up a chair and settled in it, next to Jason’s bed, determined to be there when Jason woke up and giving him a chance to think about the Gala and how he was going to break the news to Jason. Bruce is sure Jason’s going to hate it and get angry, most likely slip away completely at the mere thought of being in the Manor with people who would look at him like a pet or something in displayed in an art gallery. Which would be understandable; most of the people on the guest list were good and possibly wouldn’t mind Jason, maybe even make conversation with him to try to make him feel welcome, while a section of the guest list were not so friendly. That group were the kind that sneered at homeless before driving home with a private chauffeur to eat lobster for dinner and wouldn’t spare a dime to the ones who needed it more unless it gave them publicity – unfortunately, they were also some of the wealthiest in Gotham with big companies, smart heads and good connections in the right places, so they were invited to Wayne events, even though they left a sour aftertaste in Bruce’s mouth after talking to them. And then there is the issue of getting Jason a –

A grunt from the bed snaps Bruce out of his thoughts. Jason is squirming, twitching his head from side to side, brows furrowed and muttering to himself in his sleep. Bruce is up immediately and grabs his arms to shake him awake, trying to not put too much pressure on the right shoulder he’d hurt not even 12 hours earlier.

“Jason! Jason, wake up!”

Jason’s eyes fly open and Bruce lets go of his arms as Jason pushes himself up. “You’re in your bedroom. At the Manor.” Bruce sits back down as Jason looks around him and drags his duvet up to his chin looking around the room.

“Is it cold? Do you have a fever?” Bruce asks.

Jason shakes his head. “No.”

“That’s good.”

“What time is it?” Jason asks, peeking at the window where daylight was shining through.

Bruce checks the watch on his wrist. “About three in the afternoon. You’ve been sleeping a long time.”

A beat of silence between the two.

“…Did you have a nightmare?” Bruce asks hesitantly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jason ignores him, jumps out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom. With his hand on the handle, he turns. “…I’m taking a shower.”

After Jason locks the door, Bruce gets him another set of clean clothes (once again Dick’s old ones and he makes a mental note get some new ones in the right size) and puts them on his chair before knocking twice on the bathroom door.

“I fetched you some new clothes. Alfred made hot chocolate, so if you want some, just come down to the kitchen.”

\---

Bruce sits down in the kitchen with his second cup of coffee for the day in his hands. On the stove stood a pot of hot chocolate, made according to Alfred’s own recipe with his own secret ingredient – a mystery still boggling Bruce after years of snooping and pleading from him and Dick, and neither had managed to get Alfred to spill what made the chocolate taste so rich and smooth that even Bruce, who never had much of a sweet tooth, drank it every time it was made. Opposite Bruce sat the elderly butler, sipping his own mug of steaming liquid while reading the newspaper with his reading glasses on. Mentally Bruce went through the different activities they had in the Manor that Jason possibly would like – Dick spent his days devouring Disney films, video games all night and perfecting his acrobatic skills when not at school or doing duties as Robin, but Dick and Jason so far had been like day and night their interests most likely were the same. Bruce sighs. Had he taken the wrong choice after all? Had it been better for everybody if he’d contacted social services and _forced_ Jason to go to an orphanage under strict surveillance?

“I’m afraid your frown might become permanent, Master Bruce, if you continue scowling,” Alfred chuckles across the table. Bruce smiles weakly in response while Alfred closes the newspaper and folds it neatly.

“Don’t worry, Master Bruce. Give him time and space. I’m sure young Master Jason will come around.”

“I know, Alfred, I just – “

The sound of light footsteps shuffling to the kitchen makes Bruce go quiet. Seconds later, Jason stands in the doorway dressed in clothes a little oversized and with messy, damp hair falling down his face.

“Good morning, Master Jason.” Alfred stands up and walks over to the cupboards to find a mug. “Or rather, good afternoon I suppose. You’ve slept for 10 hours. Was the bed satisfactory?”

Bruce takes a sip of his coffee. Alfred. Always acting like he’s running a bed and breakfast.

Jason doesn’t respond - instead he pulls the long arms of Dick’s old sweatshirt back so that his hands get free. Alfred continues talking while he pours hot chocolate into a white mug.

“It’s not long until dinnertime, but if you crave something immediately, I’ll make whatever you want. I also want to inform you that I had to take the liberty to examine your shoulder last night, and my medical opinion is that your shoulder needs rest.” He puts the mug down on the counter, and pushes it gently towards Jason. He smiles reassuringly. “And in my experience, a cup of hot chocolate is great medicine.” Alfred then calmly walks back to his chair and resumes reading his newspaper. Jason looks from the mug to Alfred, as if asking if the cup really was for him and when Alfred doesn’t make any signs to change his mind, Jason reaches for it and takes a big sip.

“It’s good, don’t you think?” Bruce asks. Jason nods. “It’s better than the instant ones.”

“You haven’t had homemade before?”

“Hot chocolate wasn’t exactly a priority,” Jason scowls.

“Right.”

Bruce swears internally and he could feel Alfred rolling his eyes behind the newspaper. This was already falling apart. Alfred puts his newspaper down, looks at Bruce sternly and says: “Perhaps, Master Bruce, it would be fitting with a house tour? Surely Master Jason would like to not get lost and might get to know the place he will stay for the next weeks.”

“Yes,” Bruce nods, very aware how utterly hopeless things would be without Alfred.

He turns to Jason. “I haven’t given you a proper tour of the Manor yet. I can give you one? If you want?”

“Yeah.” Jason puts the mug back on the counter.

“Excellent. I shall start preparing dinner in the meantime.”

 ---

Jason trailed after Bruce the entire tour, remaining quiet and keeping his distance, as Bruce opened doors, gestured to rooms in the different wings of the Manor, and Bruce had an inkling Jason was memorizing the rooms and shortcuts.

Near the end of the tour, they arrived in front of the library. “This –“ Bruce opened the door, “is the library with our books, a fireplace and room to study and to read in peace and quiet.”

To his surprise, a gasp came from the boy behind him. Before Bruce could turn and ask, Jason strides past him and towards the bookshelves on the opposite side. The library, shaped like a rectangle, had a row of three, large, arched windows providing natural daylight, brightening the otherwise dark mahogany floor and cherry book shelves. On the left from where Bruce stands is a dining table with chairs for six, and in the far left corner at the end of the rows of windows was a narrow and old fashioned staircase leading to a ledge and a wall covered in books. On the right is a fireplace, one’s best friend during the harsh Gotham winter and a place where Bruce had sat in front of as a kid, flipping through his favourite stories time and time again, leaned up against or curled up in one of the two armchairs or sofa positioned in a half circle around.

Bruce raises his eyebrows in surprise as he follows Jason, who had walked over to the first row of bookshelves on the opposite side to study the books. Jason lets his fingers trace across the spines and pulls out a copy Bruce recognizes as ‘The Hound of Baskerville, before Jason studies the cover and flips the pages before he closes and holds it, moving on to the next. After Jason pulls out his third book, Bruce breaks the silence.

“I didn’t know you were such an avid reader. The books are organized alphabetically, after the author’s last name, in case you were looking for something special. Fiction is down here and non-fiction and biographies and such are up the stairs.”

Jason stops, with his ears turning red.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I should have asked.”

“No, not at all. Read whatever you like.”

To Bruce’s joy, Jason pulls out one last book and walks over to one of the armchairs near the fireplace. Placing three of the four books on the floor, Jason then curls up in the armchair and opens to the first page one of the most famous stories about Sherlock Holmes.

 

JASON

Jason hadn’t meant to interrupt the tour of what had to be the biggest house in Gotham, but he’d seen the rows and rows of all the books and dismissed whatever boring and dusty-ass rooms billionaire Bruce would take him to next. The only reason Jason had agreed to go on the house tour at all was to get a clearer overview of his surroundings and closest exits at any given points.

Midways through the first chapter, Bruce had come up next to him with his own book. “Can I join you?” Bruce asked. Jason shrugged. “It’s your house. Do whatever.”

At first Jason thought was a pain in the ass to sit with someone else, to see Bruce’s movements in his peripheral vision, hearing pages turning and loud breathing after years of reading alone on his old couch before finding various nooks and crannies on rooftops. But after a while, Jason focused more and more on Holmes and Watson and stopped scowling at Bruce every time he shifted in his seat in an interrupting and loud way. And if Jason was completely honest with himself, a small part of him didn’t mind the company. It was kind of nice, to read with someone else and when Jason had finished reading, he’d almost forgotten that Bruce was even in the same room as him.

When done with The Hound of Baskerville, Jason picks up his second book (The Princess Brice) when Bruce clears his throat for the umpteenth time, although this time more _look-at-me-I-have-something-to announce_ instead of the usual _I’m-nervous-and-don’t-know-how-to-break-silence_ , which catches Jason’s attention.

“I have something I need to talk to you about, regarding the next weeks,” Bruce says, in a calm and quiet voice.

Oh. Jason puts the book in his lap in quiet anticipation. He’d expected the news; that Bruce was gonna kick him out of the Manor within the week because he didn’t want to have a street rat roaming around in his home, dirtying things up and spoiling the mood. When Batman said Jason had to stay for a month, it was a condition Batman had made on Bruce’s behalf, so Bruce himself could change his mind at any time and it wasn’t as if he owed Jason shit. Whatever. One of the reasons Jason had agreed to the conditions was because he knew it wouldn’t last so he could put this mess behind him and quietly go back to the streets where he belonged.

“There might’ve been some miscalculations in terms of your stay -”

Jason sighs internally. _The butler mentioned dinner, maybe I get to stay for the night. I could go on a midnight raid -_

“- this is unfortunately out of my hands –“

\- _fridge for food, obviously, and some of the jewelry this time and sell it before Batman shows up –_

“- required a lot of planning and would be very impolite if I were to make changes –“

\- _they have definitely upped their security so that’s a risk and I already have a lot to carry –_

“- and it’s for a good cause, which is why it can’t be postponed – “

 _\- but Batman is the main issue. How do I avoid him?_ Can _I?_

“ – which is why have to host a gala this upcoming Friday.”

A long minute of silence follows where Jason blinks in confusion and tries to process what the fuck just came out of Bruce’s mouth.

“…A gala,” Jason eventually says, slowly, testing out the words to see if he’d actually heard correct. “I say gala but it’s more like a dinner party of sorts.” Bruce nods, a little relieved at Jason’s calm reaction. "About 200 guests."

“Oh. Ok.” Jason sinks back in his seat and opens his second book of the day, ready to return to a fictional world.

“So, what are you thinking about that? The gala, or dinner party, I mean. It happening while you’re staying here.”

Jason shrugs again, not looking up from the first paragraph on the first page. “Your house. Do whatever,” he repeats.

Bruce nods solemnly, if not a little perplexed, before he too returns to reading, although this time with a frown. The silence between them that had started to become comfortable just minutes prior had regressed to awkward and stuffy, something Jason tried to ignore.

Ok, so he wouldn’t get kicked out today or tomorrow morning it seemed, which was sort of relieving, cause now he got some more time to come up with a strategy to avoid Batman. Getting kicked out was obviously inevitable, but at least it seemed like he had until Friday to come up with something. Within the next days, Bruce, or maybe the butler, would turn to him and explain that having a street rat from Park Row here was unsightly and would make the fancy, upper-classy rich bitch guests uncomfortable.

 _You’ve been eating_ my _food and living under_ my _roof and not shown any appreciation in the slightest. So you can get out of my sight and out of my house. Take your filthy and disgusting things with you and try to not get run over by a car on your way to back Gotham or whatever manhole you came from…_

Jason flips the page. At least he could read some more books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually haven't read the original novel of "The Wizard of Oz" but I'm assuming it's very similar to the movie, if not exactly the same. And I was too lazy to google. Sorry about that.


	18. The After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bonding. A little angst. A little hurt.

JASON

The rest of the time spent with Bruce in the library was in silence, until the butler popped in to declare dinner, and Jason begrudgingly had to put down the copy of The Princess Bride to politely follow Bruce and the butler to the dining room. But the irritation he felt over being bossed around disappeared once he arrived to the dining room; the table was set with clean plates without cracks in them, sparkling glasses and cutlery so shiny Jason could mirror himself in them. And the food _,_ oh God, the _food_. The smell of the sweet and salty and smoky meat burned his nostrils and made his mouth water. On the plates, beautifully presented, was steaming vegetables like broccoli, cauliflower, sliced carrots and peas together with golden brown and juicy slices of a meat Jason didn’t recognize, covered with a creamy yellow sauce with herbs in it. Jason quickly put his grudge to rest, and sat down opposite Bruce, before he realizes that he’s hungrier than he’d thought – even though he could go at least a few days without eating anything. Bruce smiles from his side. “Dig in.”

Jason’s fork hovers above the veggies hesitantly. The breakfast he had last time wasn’t poisoned, but maybe it is poisoned _this_ time? What if he took one bite, and then he wouldn’t be able to breathe and he’d die scratching his throat bloody, gasping and pleading for his life while his lips turned blue? Or maybe it would be half-digested before he just fell over, blood trickling out his nose, gone before he’d even hit the ground? Or-

“It’s roast beef with béarnaise sauce and steamed vegetables,” Bruce says calmly from his chair on the opposite side.

“What?” Jason forces himself to say. His ears are ringing, and his nails are digging into his thigh, in an attempt to focus on something else than dying alone and turning cold on the floor.

“Today’s dinner is roast beef with béarnaise sauce and steamed vegetables,” Bruce repeats, just as calmly while he cuts up a big chunk of meat into a smaller piece. Dripping with sauce, the piece goes to Bruce’s mouth. He chews and swallows. “Alfred is an excellent cook.” Bruce then does the same with the veggies, all of them, before drinking water from his glass. Jason shifts his focus back to the plate in front of him, embarrassed and slightly ashamed that Bruce saw through him that easily, even though it was a little calming to see Bruce eating the non-poisonous food.

Jason inhales and holds his breath for a few seconds, hearing Bruce continuing to eat opposite him. A small part of him feels gratitude to Bruce for not pushing the issue or digging, or even worse; _fussing_ over him. Instead Bruce is giving him space, showing instead of belittling but still in the room, as an offer of support if needed. With knuckles turned white, Jason cuts up a piece of the roast beef. Fuck, it looks and feels so tender and juicy, and smells so good it couldn’t be real. He takes a bite.

Immediately, Jason knows that this is the best meal he's ever had.

\---

A few hours later, Jason closes the door behind him to the bedroom he’d been given during his stay and places two books on his empty nightstand. He noticed it before but checks once more to be sure – there isn’t a lock on the door. _Shit_.

Frustrated he combs through the room to search for any cameras or microphones or anything out of place. He doesn’t find any. A little stumped, he throws himself at the edge of the bed and stretches out his arms above his head. After eating dinner in silence (well, mostly – Bruce still attempted to make awkward small-talk), Jason had hurriedly taken his dishes to the kitchen to rinse them out, only to be shooed out by Alfred who insisted that Jason was not there to his job, which was confusing, so Jason snuck back to the library and read some more, this time without Bruce, who had seemingly disappeared and stayed that way. _Billionaire life must be hard_ , Jason thinks sarcastically.

 _Everything’s so fucked up. Off-balance._  Jason sighs. Despite the size of the Manor, it felt claustrophobic to be here, confined to specific rooms even when they didn’t have locks on the doors. And especially with those two semi-hovering close by him or hanging over his shoulder one way or another, watching him and his every move. Jason was used to being out in the open, in the streets where the night sky was his ceiling and he could do what he wanted whenever he wanted but now…it was cramped.

 _Street rats belong in the streets. They get exterminated in houses. Everyone knows that_.

He flops over to his side, feeling the soft, clean and cold duvet push against his warm cheek. Outside the window, it was already dark, even with some lingering glimpses of the sunset in the distance. Despite how the days had gotten longer, it would soon be summer, with blazing heat making everything dry and rotten and sweaty, before the unpredictable and short bursts of summer rain made everything soaking wet and even more rotten. The worst part about summer was how the food became spoilt within minutes of hitting the trash can if it already wasn’t, but the good part was that water was easy to come by. It's a simple trick - get huddled up somewhere dry or with a waterproof coat with an empty bottle, put the bottle out in the open and just wait for the rain to fill it up.

He stretches out and arm and lets it fall on the fat pillow. Jason wasn’t tired (he had slept almost all day after all) but a warm drowsiness crept up on him, created by the combination of the greatest, warmest meal he’d ever eaten and a bed that felt like a cloud. Instead of letting himself drift away, Jason hops off the bed and rummages through his boxes to find the digital clock he nabbed a few days ago, turns it on and puts it on the nightstand, before propping up the fluffy pillow against the wall. Getting real comfortable, Jason grabs the first book on the nightstand and returns to reading yet again. A few hours later, Jason is sprawled out on the bed like a star, done with both books. The clock on the nightstand shows him it’s midnight with glowing, red numbers. He’s wide awake, and nothing to do. At this hour he’d normally loiter around the back entrances of restaurants and cafés to see if they’d throw out valuable leftovers and then rummage through their garbage to ensure his storage wouldn’t go empty. Jason sighs again. “This is so _boring_ ,” he complains loudly. He wanted to, but he didn’t dare to sneak around in the Manor at night, what if he would see something he wasn’t supposed to? Jason stretches and groans.

\---  

02:37 AM. Jason turns again and glares at the clock in an attempt to make it go faster. He’d turned off the light and tried to sleep, which failed completely. The bed's too soft, feeling more like quicksand than a bed and everything’s too quiet outside – no cars or people or wind or anything, and it’s driving Jason nuts, because the silence is eerie and felt more dangerous than sleeping in an alleyway surrounded by strangers. The background noise of Gothamites and the pulsating feel of Gotham City was something Jason had grown up with and had been surrounded by his entire life, to the point that he didn’t even notice it anymore. Now that it wasn’t there, it was impossible to fall asleep without it.

His eyes fall on the smaller cardboard box next to the bed, the one where Jason had sorted his more essential items. He turns on the reading light before shuffling around in the box for a small copy of The Hobbit, which he picks up to open on the first page. Out flutters an old polaroid picture of Catherine and lands on his lap. Jason puts the novel on the nightstand and curls up under the duvet, carefully holding the picture to not tear it up even more. It was an old photo; taken with a polaroid camera she’d bought him as a birthday gift when he turned four, a camera that later broke after Willis threw it into the wall during a fight. Jason had taken the photo during a morning they ate breakfast. She was dressed in a grey sweater, holding a cup of tea to her lips, her eyes still sleepy and with a gentle smile to the camera. Her pink cheeks were framed by soft and light curls that fell over her shoulders, illuminated by the morning sun. She had the day off, and took him to the park before they went shopping for groceries. They cooked dinner (mac and cheese) and danced together in the living room, listening to the radio. That had been a good day.

“Hi, mom,” Jason says in a hushed tone. “This week has been insane, like… _really_ fucking crazy. So it turns out Batman’s real. And I fucked up his super-awesome car,” he chuckles. “But um, do you remember Honey, my friend who I told you about? That got killed? Well - guess who solved her murder!” Jason giggles with excitement and grins. “I did! Me! I got the guy who did, I kicked his ass and sent him to jail, which means he got just desserts! It feels awesome.” He sighs, his smile fading a bit. “Batman _helped_ , I guess,” he mutters. And I made a deal with him. In exchange for info regarding Honey’s killer I’m now living in Bruce Wayne’s castle. You know - _the_ Bruce Wayne. I think Bruce and Batman are friends or something, ‘cause it seems like Bruce knows Batman well enough to be talking to him daily. But anyway, the deal was that I stay here for a month, but since Bruce is having a fancy dinner on Friday with his rich-bitch friends it means I’ll be back in Park Row before you know it. Bruce has a butler too. I didn’t think that was an actual thing but it is. His name’s Alfred and I think I like him more than Bruce. He’s a good cook.”

He rubs his eyes sluggishly. “Y’know, I stole Batman’s hubcaps. And I sold them two days later to that mechanic that takes in used parts, and I got a couple hundred bucks for ‘em. And I know I promised to get you a gravestone, but I… I don’t feel right with taking that money for myself, so when I go back to Park Row, I’ll leave the money with a note or something. He can give it back to Batman. It’ll suck, but I don’t want them to use that against me somehow in the future. I’ll get you a gravestone by my own merit someday.”

 _If I live that long_ , Jason thinks grimly. Gravestones were really fucking expensive, and one made of good granite with proper inscription on it would cost about 1500$. More if Jason were to get with an angel figure on it.

“So yeah. That’s how I’m doing. And –oh! I ate roast beef today and, holy shit, it’s good! That’s my new favourite food, I think.” Jason bites his lip. “…That’s the second time they’ve given me food. Living here in the Manor is weird,” he sighs. “They – Bruce and Alfred, I mean – don’t want anything as payment or seem to care about the stuff I stole from them last time, they haven’t asked at all. They have given me food and clothes and a room with a bed, all for free, so they don’t seem like bad people and I just - it’s _confusing_ and… I – I guess I wish you were here to help me. I _miss_ you, mom,” he finishes lamely. Jason feels tears form against his will. “It’s been over a year now and I miss you so much it hurts. But I’m – I’m trying to manage, I _am_ managing and so far I’m doing okay for myself, I think, even though I still wish you were here to tell me what to do.” Jason dries his tears on the pillow. “But if you were here, I wouldn’t be where I am and I wouldn’t need you to tell me what to do.” Jason sniffles and rubs his eyes.

“I _miss_ you,” he sobs out again. "I - I really miss you." Salty tears drip down and hits the pillow and after a minute, a wet spot had formed under his cheek.  He stops crying and sits up. “Fuck,” he mutters and rubs his face harder this time, to scrub away the tears and the snot. The infuriating feeling of powerlessness doesn't go away, and without warning, exhaustion hits him like a truck. He kisses Catherine goodnight and puts the photo back where he’d kept it ever since he left home, switches the reading light off, turns the pillow to the cold side and pulls the duvet up to his chin. _Fuck this place and fuck these people,_ he thinks bleakly. _Don’t trust anyone._ Under his pillow he clenches his knife, which he now had started to bring with him everywhere he went. It doesn’t take long before he drifts away, despite the uncomfortableness of the bed and the dull ache in his chest that won’t go away.

A part of him wishes he’d wake up the next morning back in his box on the rooftop, back to the hustle and bustle of Park Row where everything was familiar chaos.

A smaller, different part of him, deep, deep down, thinks Bruce and Alfred doesn’t seem that bad. They might even be nice. And Jason likes the Manor with its kitchen with the full fridge and the beautiful library with enough books to last him a lifetime and the clean bathroom that smells like lemons. But he doesn’t dare say any of that out loud. He can barely bring himself to think it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of PART 1 of this series! I had a joy writing this, although I struggled a bit with keeping a schedule at the end.  
> I'll be busy with uni and exams going forward to June but I'll try to write when I can, and publish accordingly. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's left comments, kudos and first and foremost; for reading this series of mine. I love Jason and I love writing this little origin story in my own personal sandbox, and I'm not done with this world yet.  
> And thank you so much for your patience! 
> 
> I'm available on tumblr under the same username (blueiben) so just send messages my way if there's anything! :)


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